Turning Draco's Coat
by Aeriel Ravenna
Summary: Hermione plots to bring Draco to the light side.She forces him into an AU, where he's Draco Granger, Mudblood & a third of the Gryffindor Trio, & she's Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut. Can she change him? What happens when emotions get involved? summ. ins
1. Chapter 1

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend...) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N : Hey, guys! I've had this idea for a while but have been sitting on it. This chapter is basically an introduction to the idea, and you get a bit of background and whatnot. It's hard to put into a summary without giving it all away, but this'll be cool! I hope . . . Please leave a review, even a short one, to tell me how this is. Thanks! **

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_This letter is in regard to the idea we formed at the end of term last year. Since there are only two weeks until school starts, I thought maybe we should start working on it. I have quite a few formulas that may come in handy. I understand if you are otherwise occupied, but may I, with your permission, come back to Hogwarts a bit early to work on it?_

_Sincerely, _

_Hermione Granger_

Hermione Granger sighed and twisted a curl between her thumb and index finger. What DID you write to a professor when you needed the vast library of Hogwarts to work on a project which he had asked her to do? She assumed it was probably alright, but she did have to ask, didn't she? _This letter is terribly awkward_, she thought. _Oh, well, not much I can do about it._

She reluctantly rose from her seat at the fine black cherry wood desk that graced her organized little bedroom. She crossed the small room to the window, where a cage, containing a medium sized, yellow-eyed, brown feathered owl, was hung.

"Out you come, Grethel. Could you take this to Dumbledore for me?" She asked politely as she tied the letter to the owl. She was still not used to demanding her owl to deliver letters, although Harry and Ron always teased her about her owl-post etiquette. _Harry and Ron,_ she thought, and sighed again.

She hadn't seen them since end of term last year. Harry was forced to stay at his aunt and uncle's house, as it was the only safe place for him. Twelve Grimmauld place had been a nice haven for him, but that was before the place was found and destroyed in the trio's sixth year. Ron, well, Ron was away. His family decided to go on a trip to the Americas, but that was basically only a cover story. The family was there to find a certain few people who could help them win against the final battle.

So, with the two of them, plus Ginny Weasley, her female best friend, gone, she was stuck in her house, with her parents. _Not for long, though,_ thought Hermione.

She sighed once more and laid back on her canopy bed, brushing an few sable strands of hair from her face. She closed her eyes, thinking of her newest project, until a second later when—

"Hermione! Dinner!" her mother called loudly.

"Coming, Mother. I'm coming," Hermione replied, still lying on her bed, very much aware that her mother couldn't hear her.

oooooooooooooo

Miles away from Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy was pacing the ornate hallway outside his father's study. _Stupid man,_ Draco thought maliciously. _One day, I swear, I'll-_

"Draco, you may come in," Said the cold, smooth voice of his father. Draco quickly wiped his face of all emotion as he stepped into the room.

"I'm here, father," Draco said. He stood, though his father was sitting in an armchair before the fire, his back to his son. Lucius Malfoy gestured for him to come closer. Step by cautious step, Draco did, until he was looming over his father. His father reached out a hand, as if to take Draco's, but instead pulled Draco's shirt, and Draco with it, down to the floor. Draco's knees buckled and he kneeled, the position as familiar as the back of his hand. As the tall boy crumpled himself down, Lucius placed his hand languorously on the boy's hair. Draco winced as the heavy signet ring on his father's index finger clunked against the crown of his head.

"Good. We have some business to attend to. I'm sure you know of which I speak?" Lucius said coolly.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied, voice muffled by the way his head was tucked neatly down.

"Your eighteenth birthday is seven months from now. It is time to think on some matters. I trust that you will be the loyal" and here he grabbed a handful of fine hair, "diligent" jerking his hand it roughly upwards, causing Draco to bite his lip in pain, suppressing a yelp that would only anger his father, "little" another jerk, "slime ball that I know you can be."

"Yes, father," Draco gritted out.

"You _do _wish to serve my Lord, then?' His father asked, curling his fingers.

"Yes, sir," Draco said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Excellent." His father's hand abruptly left his hair. Draco fought the sigh of relief that rose to his lips. "I will tell the Dark Lord of you wise decision. You will be marked the night of your birthday. That will be all. Leave me, now."

"Yes, sir," Draco quickly replied and then hurriedly left.

Draco's feet automatically took him back to his room. As soon as he ended the large, richly decorated room, he fell back on his bed with a loud thump.

_Me, becoming Death Eater_, he thought. _Who would have thought it? _He snorted. _Hey, maybe now Lucius will stop always being on my back about it. Maybe I'll even get to duel Pot-Head._ He smiled. While one side of him really cringed at bowing down to someone else (Draco had always thought of himself as more...superior) he was also going to have a _lot _of fun as a Death Eater.

Then a thought struck him.

_The mark! _He thought wildly. Instead of panicking over it because people would see, and know he 'worshipped' an entirely evil being, and maybe try to attack him or throw him in Azkaban, he began to worry about his appearance. _Damn! That stupid bloody thingy will ruin my perfect complexion! Really, it's not even that attractive—what will my ladies say?!? Shit. Maybe I could convince Voldemort to change the dark mark, to something more befitting my personality? Like, maybe a tattoo along the lines of "Draco is sexy"? No, make that "Draco is **INCREDIBLY **sexy."_

"M-master Draco? Your Lady Mother says its t-time for dinner," a house elf standing at his door said, trembling. Draco walked down to dinner, ignoring the pathetic, timid little thing with a smirk on his face. He'd always been very persuasive.

oooooooooooo

Hermione stretched luxuriously and yawned. She'd had _quite_ a good rest. She squinted at the clock, sleepiness blurring her vision. _Nine forty-five? Why in hell am I awake this early on vacation?_ Hermione sat up, her previously cheerful mood replaced by a slightly put-out one. Once she was up, she was up for good, so there was no use dawdling in bed.

Quite suddenly, she heard a gentle '_tap, tap_' at her window. Recognizing the sound instantly for the familiar noise of her owl trying to get in, she hurried over to the window. Grethel was always irritable when she had to wait, hovering, outside her window.

Grethel swooped elegantly into the room, and perched, rather thoughtlessly, on Hermione's right arm. Hermione yelped loudly with pain. Grethel shot her an indignant look and left her arm for a quieter perch.

"_Someone_ needs her talons clipped," a rueful Hermione smiled. Grethel squawked angrily—it was _quite_ an odd sound for an owl to make, but then again Hermione supposed she probably wasn't _all _owl anyway—and flew further away from her.

"Hey—hey, Grethel, d'you, uh, think you could give me that letter please?" asked Hermione awkwardly. Grethel ruffled her feathers up and down a few times before perching within Hermione's reach on the back of her chair.

Hermione gently took the letter from the owl, and quickly read it.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I apologize for not thinking of this earlier. Of course, how you are to get here is the tricky part. As you are underage and cannot apperate just outside Hogwarts grounds, and a portkey would be far to much trouble, may I suggest you take the Knight Bus here at your earliest convenience? _

_As this project will take considerable time to research and set up, I recommend that you pack for the rest of the school year instead of coming here and going back._

_Thank you for bringing this matter to attention._

_Signed,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Hermione smiled to herself at the thought of her little project. It WOULD be fun! And very effective, of course, if it worked. But Dumbledore thought it would, and she had faith in Dumbledore.

Hermione hummed a cheerful tune as she packed her clothes into her trunk. She looked wryly at her old robes. They wouldn't fit her anymore; she'd have to go to Madame Malkin's and get new ones. She sighed. Merlin, but growing and, for lack of a better word, _maturing_ were very tough on one's wallet. She already had had to buy a mostly all-new wardrobe of clothes. All of her old ones were embarrassingly tight around certain areas and she seemed to have finally grown hips, making all her old jeans fit oddly. Still, she couldn't quite say she disliked her new, more womanly figure.

Smiling, Hermione made her way downstairs to the smell of waffles. _Ah,_ she thought. _Life is good. The only thing that could make life better is if—well, if Voldemort died. And if I got a boyfriend. And if Ron would stop liking me. And—no, I think that's it._

ooooooooooooo

Draco Malfoy woke with a jolt to the unpleasant feeling of a house elf prodding him (with a rather sharp nail, he noted,) and repeating softly, "Master Draco, Master Draco, it is being time for you to get upsies,"

Draco moaned and pushed the house elf's hand away. The elf continued to repeat the phrase, as she had been trained to do. _Bloody thing never shuts up, does she?_ thought Draco, as he slowly raised himself up out of his bed. "Alright, alright, I'm awake, no need to keep repeating all that bloody nonsense." He said irritably. The elf bowed and made her (for it was clear that it was indeed a female) way out the door.

He headed immediately for his en suite bathroom, wincing slightly as his feet encountered the cold marble floor. He quickly stripped and entered the large shower, turning up the water to the hottest it could go. He sighed and let himself relax in the steam. He lathered a musky-smelling soap onto his hands and ran it over his body, pausing here and there to rub the scarce scar or cut.

Draco Malfoy had exactly twelve scars on his body. To many muggles, this would be a moderately normal amount; however, most wizards who were raised in a wizarding household had very few, perhaps two or three. There were spells to remove scarring, he knew, and he had had many cuts and wounds before that had been healed by them.

These twelve were spelled to stay on his body. These twelve were not removed because they were there to remind him of acts of insolence, disobedience and wrongdoings that he did. They served as a punishment and a reminder. Only a few of them were very noticeable, for if they were all obvious people would wonder.

Draco slowly traced the outline of his largest scar. It was about two and a half inches long and narrow. Placed on his side, it was the after mark of a whipping given to him when he accidentally defended a muggle-born friend. He hadn't known the boy was muggle-born, of course, but the fact remained.

Draco shook his head, clearing it of the memory. He rarely thought on his scars, now; there were more important things to think about. Oh, it wasn't as everyone thought; he wasn't beaten on a regular basis and he was not 'scarred' by it. He understood perfectly that as a Malfoy, he had a reputation to uphold and when he didn't, he would be punished. He accepted that, perhaps even liked it, after awhile. He liked his life orderly and he liked having rules. He was thrilled to be Head Boy; if for no other reason than he was allowed to uphold rules and punish those who didn't, though his idea of punishment was a lot different from many other peoples.

He quickly rubbed shampoo into his hair and rubbed it out, then stepped out of the shower.

Ten minutes later, he was dry and dressed. Draco's hair hung loosely (it was silver blond and hung to about the top of his earlobes. It had an endearing habit of flopping into his eyes and Draco had developed a highly sexy way of flicking it back nonchalantly, in a way that made girls swoon and boys glare enviously at his crowning glory.) Hair still slightly damp from the shower, Draco sighed and slowly made his way to the door of his bedroom.

Stepping into the hall, Draco looked around him. His mother was just stepping out of her room; she turned and smiled at him, though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. It never did.

"Draco, darling. You missed breakfast," his mother greeted him.

"Yes, sorry about that, Mother," he said. She took a step towards him.

"Well, what are your plans for the day, boy?" she asked, though she didn't seem very curious.

"I'm going to go to Diagon Alley, pick up my school things early and maybe see a few friends,' he said coolly. _Get out of my way woman, your wasting my time! _He inwardly screamed.

"Alright, dear. Here, use the fireplace in my room, its blazing," she said. He nodded and the two went into her room. A single bed was pushed into the corner and the room was very plain. His father clearly did not favor his mother much anymore. Draco threw a bit of proffered floo power into the fire, then pecked his mother's cheek awkwardly and cried, "Diagon Alley!" and stepped into the flame.

Standing in the position he had fondly called 'Floo Stance' as a child (standing with his hands clasped together, his head bent slightly) he allowed the odd sensation of traveling through fireplaces to lull him to a dreamlike state. He quickly snapped out of it when he arrived promptly at the fireplace hearth that had been erected in the center of Diagon Alley. He stepped out, as gracefully as possible for a six-foot-tall boy.

ooooooooo

Draco was just finishing his shopping in Florish and Blotts when someone tapped his right shoulder. Turning around, he saw his closest (for lack of a better word) friend, Blaise Zabini. Draco looked down (Blaise was only five foot eight, so he could do so and not look like a prat) at the grinning brunet boy and arched an eyebrow.

"Zabini," Draco said, tonelessly.

"Malfoy," Blaise said smoothly, not missing a beat. Draco grinned; he had missed Blaise's comic, cynical outlook on life over the holiday.

"Looking like a git, as usual, I see," Malfoy said.

"Damn right. And proud of it," Was Blaise's reply.

"Yes, right. Now, what was it you wanted?" This was their relationship, take it or leave it. They spoke in a battle of rejoinders, false stiffness, and putdowns, and unless you carefully observed the two, it was almost impossible to see the way they slyly hid information into their banter. To the casual onlooker, they were calmly bickering acquaintances.

The two continued to amiably argue.

"Are you going to do it?" Blaise asked, suddenly, in the middle of a cutting remark that Draco was making.

"Yes, of course," replied Draco, startled. "Why?"

"Just wondering, that's all," Blaise said, pointedly not looking at Draco's face.

"And you?" Draco asked, after a careful moments pause.

"I'm a Zabini, mate. Neutrality is key, although I'm not disputing that for a few thousand galleons we wont—" Blaise started, grinning, but Draco cut him off.

"Shut up. Not here. Anyways, I'm off getting new robes at Madame Malkins, my old ones are looking almost like I've worn them by now." Draco said.

"See you, then."

"Right." Draco walked off, feeling unusually annoyed by his fried. Draco made his way down the Alley, which was pretty crowded for a typical summer day before school.

He finally got to Madame Malkin's, but only by shoving, pinching and pulling people out of his way. When he entered, he saw that she already had a customer. The bell over the door rang, rather late and lamely. Madame Malkin bustled over to Draco and directed him over to a stand to be measured.

He had to rather roughly pushed, though, because at the moment he was rather preoccupied by glaring balefully at one Hermione Granger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend...) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N : Thank you ADepressedSpooty, .Whitney. ( By the way, I don't usually respond directly to reviews, but at first, my response to your review (the long hair bit) was ' eh, deal with it,' but then, after a few wrong mental images and much debate, I decided you were right—so I'll be re-uploading that with the corrections soon) Silent-Serpent, Nicole-HP-Fan, magictrousers, and young poet15 for reviewing! Please keep up reviewing, I want to know how you think this is going...next chapter will be much more interesting, this one is basically just to fill in the blanks. R&R please! **

"Mudblood," hissed Draco when he was at his stand.

"Malfoy," Hermione said calmly, in a form of greeting. Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

"Where are your little buddies, the Weasel and the Potty?" he sneered. Hermione raised one delicate eyebrow.

"Why would _you_ care, Malfoy?" She asked. Draco swore under his breath. Why the hell wasn't he getting to her? She was supposed to be bawling by now. He opened his mouth to angrily retort when Madame Malkin interrupted him by speaking to Hermione.

"Alright, love, take off your old robe—it is rather ill-fitting after all," she said cheerfully. Hermione smiled and complied and the two women began to make small talk amiably. Draco watched them out of the corner of his eye.

_Looks like Granger grew up_, he smirked, eyeing her new, curvier figure._ Shame that body's wasted on a Mudblood—it isn't half bad. Bu then again, the blood's tainted so the whole body must be tainted, too._ Madame Malkin had Hermione turn a bit so that her back was facing Draco. Draco took the opportunity to observe the girl.

_Mudbloods,_ he thought distastefully._ I don't understand why they're allowed into Hogwarts. They're like—like _animals_. Its sick, really, like teaching a dog to write or some such. Dogs are meant to be beaten and stay out of our way, like Mudbloods. Actually, dogs and Mudbloods seem quite similar; they must have the same genetic traits or some such._

Draco had always been raised to believe that muggle-borns were a little less than beasts, masquerading as humans. Muggles were regarded the same—Draco had never _met_ one, and never seen one close up, but he was sure if he did he would know immediately. They were supposedly quite repulsive. They smelled horribly and had mush for brains—that's what his father said, anyway. He wished he could meet a muggle in person—he wanted to ask them a few things, if they could answer, anyhow. Draco also wanted to experiment on them—could you, for example, tame them or cleanse their blood? Could you use one as a beast of burden?

Draco continued his musing as Madame Malkin measured and fitted him. He was deep in a daydream of a detailed procedure of how he could dissect a muggle while still keeping it alive when Madame Malkin interrupted his thoughts.

"All done, dear. Here they are—six of our finest robes," said Madame Malkin, beaming.

"Thank you," he mumbled absentmindedly. He walked out of the shop after paying, very pleased with some of the concepts he had made. He was walking to the Owlery to pick up some owl treats for his eagle-owl, Felroy, when he—quite literally—bumped into Theodore Nott, a Slytherin his age.

"Watch where you're going, Nott," Draco sneered. His father was higher in the ranks of Death Eaters than Nott's father was, so he could patronize and pester Nott as much as he wanted without any consequences. _Handy, that._

"So sorry, Draco, wont happen again," Nott said, fighting to keep his expression pleasant.

"Yes, well. Make sure that it doesn't, or else you'll have me and a few friends to answer to," Draco said maliciously. _God, its fun toying with people._

"Of course, Draco, O Prince of Slytherins," replied Nott, sneakily smiling at him. Draco raised a finely arched white-blonde eyebrow and made a noise of disapproval in his throat. Nott's smile faded quickly.

"That's right, O Slave of the Prince," Draco smirked before leaving him.

oooooooooooo

**Two hours later. . .**

Hermione pecked her mother on the cheek fondly. "I'll miss you, Mum, but I'll try to come home for Christmas break this year, okay?"

"Of course, dear. I'm just sorry that your father isn't here to say goodbye to you. I love you, darling," her mother said to her warmly, embracing Hermione.

"I love you too. Send Dad my love. Now, Mum, can you go inside? The Knight Bus won't come if there's a mug—if you're standing here. Bye, Mum." Hermione said quickly, trying not to sound callous or hurtful.

"Bye, dear." Her mother kissed her quickly and then left. Hermione awkwardly stuck her wand into the air and—

**BANG.**

The purple bus came barreling down Hermione's quiet, narrow street. It stopped with an obvious jolt before Hermione, and a pimpled young man who must have been twenty or so stepped out.

"'Ello, there, wel'ome to the Knight Bus. Me name's Stan. Can I 'elp you wif your bags?" He asked her, grinning lecherously.

"Uh, sure. Thanks," Hermione said.

"No prob'em. Where d'you want 'oo go?" Stan asked her.

"Hogwarts, please. Outside the gates if possible, but Hogsmeade is fine as well," Hermione said quickly.

"'Ogwarts?" Stan asked, wrinkling his nose. "Whachoo wanna go there now? Isnit a bit early for you to go there?"

"Er, yes. I have some work to do there though," Hermione said, not eager to elaborate. _His accent is getting quite annoying. I mean, Cockney is fine and dandy, but it's quite hard to understand him._

Stan led her onto the bus, motioning for her to sit down on a bed with a purple and green bedspread.

"'At'll be 'eventeen sickles, and I'll frow in some 'ot chocolate for free," he grinned at her. The way he smiled at her gave her the creeps and made her skin crawl unpleasantly. She hastily gave him the money and lay back on her bed , sipping at her hot chocolate. She began thinking about her project.

_Well now, lets see. It'll take to long to recreate my whole childhood for him, so I guess once he wakes up there, we can send him my memories—altered for him, of course. Won't he be surprised to be Draco Granger!_ She grinned. _Hmm, should I actually be there? It would be quite intrusive but—oh! It _would_ be fun to be Hermione Malfoy and get under his skin a bit. I won't let him know I'm there, though. _

_Wait. _She suddenly thought. _How will I know when it's time for him to come back? What if he SAYS that he's changed, but is just lying? Well, I should definitely bring that up with Dumbledore, perhaps he'll have an idea. _With this soothing thought, Hermione fell into a light slumber.

oooooooooooo

_She was trapped, in a little cardboard box with one little eye-hole. She beat against the sides of the tiny box, kicking, screaming, but no sound escaped her lips and hitting the box only gave out a very soft muffled sound._

_CRACK!_

_Though she couldn't see it, she instinctively knew that was a whip on the box. And though nothing ever touched her skin, she could feel searing pain on her back, as if the whip had gone through the box._

"_Stupid Mudblood Bitch, you're trying to trap me but I've got you. I've got you exactly where I want you and I refuse to let go." Malfoy's voice came. Hermione whimpered. He began to shake the box, as if to shake some sense into her._

"_Hermione..."_

"_Hermione!"_

"'_Ermione!"_ _funny, she thought, that sounds just like the conductor._

ooooooooooo

"'Ermione!" Hermione woke with a jolt to Stan shaking her.

"Wh-what?" she asked, rubbing a temple.

"'Ogwarts in five minutes," he said to her, in a way she though might be kindly, but it was hard to tell with his accent. She nodded, yawning, and stretched. Reaching for her bag, she noticed something sticking out of a side pocket. It was a slip of parchment.

It read:

_MUDBLOOD WHORE, I HOPE YOU DIE SOON. YOU'RE NOT WORTH THE SLIME ON A DECENT PUREBLOOD'S SHOES. HERES TO A LONG, PAINFUL DEATH, BITCH._

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, but she quickly wiped them away before they could trail down her reddened cheeks. She had been getting notes like this since the end of fifth year, and she had no idea who sent them. She never saw anyone put them there, and there were never owls in sight—in fact, when she had once tried to show one to Ginny, all Ginny saw was a scrap of blank parchment.

Hermione closed her eyes. _People today can be so cruel._

"'Ogwarts!" Stan called.

ooooooooooooo

Draco scowled. His day was getting worse by the minute. First, he had lost forty Galleons to a Slytherin comrade, with whom he had betted on the outcome of a brawl. Then, he had wandered into the ice cream parlor only to find it swarming with small, snot nosed children. He'd had to fight his way out, and came out slightly worse for wear, with a ripped (silk, no less!) shirt from where a toddler had grabbed onto him. Now, and this was the cherry on his sundae of misery, _Pansy_ had found him.

"Ooh, Drakie, I've missed you sooo much," she purred in a way that she undoubtedly thought seductive. It wasn't. He felt like throwing up and screaming at her, '_get off me NOW you disgusting soiled whore of a pureblood!_' Instead, he smiled weakly, trying not to breathe in her disgusting scent. It smelled as though she hadn't bathed in a while and had tried to cover it up by swimming in a large vat of vile perfume.

"Yes, I suppose you have," Draco choked out. Pansy smiled at him, her already squashed face bunching together in a most repellent way.

"So, Drakie, darling, how's your summer been," she leaned forward, putting her face almost in the elegant arch of where Draco's neck met his jaw line.

"Fine, yes, quite brill, but, er, must be off now!" Draco said getting up and walking as fast as he could (and being so very tall, that was _fast_) away from the girl. He thought he faintly heard her call to him,

"But Drakie, you never got your sundae!"

He smirked suddenly, his mood changing. He had power over such pathetic people. All people, really. He dominated over Slytherin but then again that was probably because all of them put together (excluding Blaise, of course) could probably only scrape together just enough IQ points to pass by 'dim as a tomato plant.

It was a shame, really, because Draco sometimes wished he had someone as intelligent, witty, and quick as he was. Well, there was Blaise, but with Blaise you had to keep an eye on him at all times and keep a steady hand to your back to make sure he wasn't stabbing it. He supposed one day he would find someone like that. Maybe.

Draco sauntered down to the fireplace, and tossing full handful (He was a Malfoy, he could afford such petty expenses) into it, he called, "Malfoy Manor!" and stepped into the flame.

After being mildly tickled for quite a few fireplaces, Draco arrived home.

Into the living room.

Where his parents just _had_ to be snogging.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned his face away. He coughed, politely, and said,

"Uh, right, I'm here and I must get through the door you two are blocking, could you _please_ move?" He turned his head to see his parents, slightly reddened, move away from the door. He nodded at his mother and winked at his father, who scowled at him before moving again closer to his wife, before he left.

Normally he wouldn't get away with such 'impertinence,' but his father was obviously in a good mood, for he was actually touching his wife.

Draco winced at the thought. He would probably be scarred for life, now.

Draco entered his room and sprawled on his bed, landing on Severus Snape, who he hadn't notice sitting there.

After the confusion died down, and Draco had moved himself so that he was no longer actually in contact with the man, Draco smirked.

"Uncle Sev! How nice you see you again,"

"Yes, yes, whatever, boy," Severus said gruffly.

"What brings you here to my humble" he smirked again, "abode?" Severus smacked the boy's arm lightly, playfully.

"Does a so called 'uncle' need a reason to visit his favorite nephew?" he asked, a hint of a smile—yes, you read that correctly—playing across his features.

"Well, not usually, Sev, but I know you," Draco said, grinning. Severus was like an older brother, or perhaps even a father to him. In class, they were careful not to act too chummy, however—it would be bad for both of their reputations, they had decided.

"Yes, well, once again you're right. Don't go getting too cocky about it now, mind you," Severus hastily added. Draco smirked.

"What is this oh-so-important news, Sev?"

"Well, I've just come to tell you what you already know, but—congratulations, Draco, you somehow got Head Boy," Severus said, smiling fully now—quite an odd look for him. He patted Draco on the arm. Draco grinned.

"Well, it's no shock; I _am_ the smartest at Hogwarts," he said confidently.

"What makes you so sure, boy? _Granger_ has got higher marks than you," Severus said cunningly. Draco wrinkled his aquiline nose in distaste.

"Ugh, that Mudblood? I have to share a common room with HER?" His voice rose slightly. Severus frowned.

"Yes, aren't you happy? You can taunt her whenever you like,"

"True, but that awful _banshee_ voice, it's horrid. And Pothead and the Weasel, not to mention the Weasellette, will probably _constantly_ hanging about," Draco was almost whining.

"Ah, well. I'm sure you'll be able to—handle it." Severus sneered.

Draco smiled to himself. Yes, he certainly would be able to handle it.

**How'd you like it, guys? It's a bit shorter than the first chapter (about half a page), but its just transition, basically...review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend...) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N: Hiya there, faithful (you _are_ faithful, aren't you?) readers! Here is the latest update in the story. I apologize in advance for leaving off at such an odd place. Won't say any more about that here, though...Sorry that I haven't updated in a while, I'm just getting back in the swing of school and also I'm trying to make these chapters fairly long...thanks, review, enjoy!**

"Ah, Miss Granger, how nice to see you again," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

Hermione, who had been facing the other direction, started at the noise and jumped, causing the books that had been previously innocently sitting on her lap to clatter to the floor.

"Professor! You startled me," Hermione gasped once she had regained her posture. Dumbledore bowed his head apologetically, smiling.

"Now, why don't we go over what you have, Ms. Granger," he said, not quite asking. Hermione nodded and handed him a paper upon which she had listed her ideas and the problems she had encountered. As the brilliant old man scanned the paper, Hermione felt oddly nervous, as if she was about to receive a test grade that she was almost, _almost _positive she had aced, but she wasn't _quite _sure. After a few agonizing moments, Dumbledore looked up.

"This is good. But let's talk out the knots, shall we? There are a few rough points," He said, not unkindly.

"Yes, of course," said Hermione, a bit nervously. Dumbledore smiled reassuringly and sat down in the chair directly across from her.

"Now, let's start with the biggest part—having you accompanying Mr. Malfoy on his little trip," Dumbledore twinkled. "I can see you're favorable to the idea, and I can see how it would he helpful, but do you understand the consequences of this?"

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "I know that I'll have to hang around some simply _awful _people. And I know it is a bit intrusive, but—"

"Are you also aware that if you do decide to do this, you will relive Malfoy's memories? And that, as a son of a Death Eater, they may not be quite so pleasant?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes not leaving her brown ones.

Hermione gulped. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to see what Malfoy saw. She rethought the pros and cons of the situation, rationalizing as only she could do. After a few minutes, she spoke.

"I understand, but I wish to go," Dumbledore nodded, haltingly, and for a split second Hermione thought she saw pain, tiredness, _oldness_ behind those vivid blue eyes. The moment passed and she resumed talking. "Speaking of memories, should Malfoy actually_ relive_ my modified memories? Or just have a brief flashing of it?"

"I believe it may be best if he relives them—but very, very quickly. It will be as if he is growing up, but in only a matter of minutes. I know an efficient way to include this,"

"That sounds fine. There are several problems that I don't quite know how to solve, though. One is that I just_ know _that Malfoy will be rude and bitter and sly and whatnot towards the Gryffindors—which they won't understand at all," she said, pensively.

"Ah, yes—I, too, have thought of that. I have come to the conclusion that we should put _impulses_ on _both_ of you," Dumbledore told her.

"Impulses?" Hermione asked. Dumbledore only nodded. "What do you mean, Professor?"

"It means, Ms. Granger, that if Malfoy saw Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley in the hall, he would subconsciously smile, wave and greet them, just as you would. He probably _could_ fight them, and he's certainly himself, but he probably won't land himself in _too_ much trouble before he thinks things over with the impulses in place,"

"Ah, I see how that would be useful..."Hermione said thoughtfully. "How do we get back?"

"We should create a counter-potion that you can mix and drink ahead of time for whenever you and Mr. Malfoy are ready to come home," Dumbledore said.

"Oh! How will I know when Draco's ready to come back?" Hermione said, hoping desperately that he had the answer.

"Hmm...Well, I don't believe that you will know straight away. Most likely he will seem a bit different, or maybe have a strange outburst, or _something_. But in the case this does not occur, I will give you access to a small cupboard located behind the portrait of Wilmer the Willful. The password is '_Cryptic_.' Inside, you will find several small bottles of a white-blue liquid. This is a form of Veritaserum, called Cluveriserm. I trust you know what it does?"

"Yes, professor. Cluveriserm acts like Veritaserum, but afterwards the person will not remember the questioning," Hermione said. Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Oh—one more thing..." Hermione trailed off. She very deliberately concentrated on the lushly carpeted floor.

"Yes, Ms. Granger?" Dumbledore inquired. His eyes were twinkling again.

"Anything—anything I do...there... how will it affect the real me? Like...er...say I was hit and bruised there. Would I come back bruised?" She asked, still looking down. _I'm not about to ask him straight out if having sex in that world will...Well, if I come back, am I a virgin or not??_

"Oh, I see," Dumbledore said, trying not to smile. Ah, the youth of the young! "No, it will not affect you physically. However, anything you learn there, such as, oh, ballroom dancing, will stay with you. Quite handy, actually,"

"Er, yes, I suppose," stammered Hermione, flushing pinkly. She tried hard to concentrate on what she wanted to ask Dumbledore...she knew there was something, but _what was it?_

"Was there anything else, Ms. Granger?" Dumbledore asked politely, smiling at the girl. Hermione tried to pull herself together. _Oh, I do _hate_ being embarrassed! _

"No, I think that'—wait, no, one more thing. If I am to be playing the role of Hermione Malfoy, pureblood and semi-Death Eater, should I act evil only? Or should I have a bit of my own personality?" Hermione eagerly leaned forward. She needed a _bit_ more background information on this role, after all.

"Well, Ms Granger, I had been thinking..."

ooooooooo

Draco cursed and mentally kicked himself. He had gotten himself into _quite_ the little jam. _I suppose it's a kind of natural talent_, he mused._ I mean, most people wouldn't be bloody thick enough to—_Draco was abruptly roused from his pondering by the painful feeling of a thick fist colliding with his stomach. Winded, he choked. _Bloody, bloody stupid_, he thought miserably. He just **had **to insult Squibs directly to a bajillion foot tall, kajillion ton, giant of a Squib. He was trying to make friends, honestly!

Okay, and _maybe_ also he was trying to check out the magically challenged thug's girlfriend. But that was beside the point.

Draco made no move to fight back. Draco was tall, yes, a good 5'10ish, and he was in shape, with whipcord muscles that made him alarmingly strong for his slender, lean frame. The fact remained, however, that the huge being in front of him could crush him like an ant. Magic, too, was out, as he was still bloody underage and as his dad technically should have been in Azkaban, he had to avoid the Ministry as best he could.

_How did a great ugly brute of a fella like _that_ land a babe_ that_ hot? _He wondered.

Unfortunately, he thought this out loud, causing the giants fist to crash perilously near his perfect, aquiline nose.

Which it didn't, thank god.

Thank god, yes, and Severus Snape, who _Impedimenta_'d him as quickly as he could. Draco twitched his nose awkwardly and it brushed against the frozen –man's? beast's?—knuckles. Clearing his throat and moving gracefully away from the Squib, he winked at the babe, who glared halfheartedly at him.

"Uncle Sev! Back to save the day once again, I see," Draco said to Severus, who scowled.

"_Don't _call me that in public. What the bloody hell were you playing at, boy?" he growled. Clearly, he was in a bad mood.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Sev. I didn't _know _he was a Squib. What in bloody hell is a Squib doing in Hogsmeade, anyway? I swear, they're just as bad as mudbloo—" He was cut off by Severus' glare, which was a poisonous as some of the potions he brewed.

"Why do _you_ care about Mudbloods?" asked Draco, a fine sliver eyebrow arched.

"I don—" Severus began, but Draco cut him off by raising a hand to hover annoyingly in his face.

"Yes, you do. You bit my head off last time I said it, too. It's getting bloody _annoying_, Sev,"

"Don't curse," Severus said sharply, "And, well, there's no reason."

"Ah, but there is, I can tell...but what could melt the hard of a cold old bastard like you? Not much, I reckon...perhaps a pretty woman?" Severus blushed and winced. "Yes, I see that's it. Who is it, Uncle Sev?' Draco leaned forward eagerly. He _loved_ butting into other people's lives.

"I'm not even really your uncle," muttered Severus, red.

Just as Draco opened his sensual mouth to reply, a group of talkative, pretty young women walked into the pub.

"Oh god, Sev! You've gotta hide me!" Draco hissed, eyes wide.

"Why?"

"No time to get into details, but lets just say I had a bit of a—fling with one," Draco replied hastily.

"In other words, you fucked her and forgot her name," Severus said crudely. Draco looked at him in distaste.

"Don't use that word, it doesn't suit you. I think my ears may be scarred now," Draco began, annoyed, but one of the girls spotted him and began talking excitedly to her friends and—horror of horrors, _giggling_.

_You'd think at seventeen they would have grown out of that. The only girl I've never heard giggle is—Granger. But she doesn't even count as a girl._

The girl, who was pretty with pale, pale skin and dark hair and eyes, hurried over to Draco.

"Hii, Draco," she cooed, eyelashes fluttering. Draco smirked in reply. One of her friends tittered.

"Ooh, Alexia, he's soo—" the tittering friend began, but was hushed by the pretty girl, who Draco assumed to be Alexia. He looked at her mischievously.

"Hello, ladies," he said in his famous drawl. One girl almost swooned.

"Oh, Draco, come and sit with _us_," she said, shooting Severus a look of distaste. He growled softly. Draco looked at him in disapproval, then slid his eyes back to Alexia, who was waiting there expectantly.

"Actually, sorry, but I have to go, now, come on Sev," he said quickly, as Severus kicked him under the table.

As they walked out the door, Draco quietly asked, "What the hell was that all about?"

"Bloody girls," Severus muttered. Draco laughed.

"Sev, you old codger, you need to live a bit. Girls aren't so bad, really, once you seduce them and they stop bloody tittering like bloody canaries—"

"Shut UP," Severus hissed, looking very uncomfortable. He was fairly female-a-phobic, Draco noted. _File _that_ piece of information away for later._

"Really, mate, you need to loosen up, maybe hire a few strippers..." Draco could have continued but the horrified look on his uncle's face prevent him from speaking, he was laughing so hard. "Oh, yes, I forgot, your Mudblood dame, of course,"

Severus turned to him and sent him a piercing glare. Draco met his gaze squarely.

"Don't," Severus breathed, "ever use that term again." His tone was deadly serious. The two looked each other in the eye for a good minute, assessing, dangerous. Finally Draco gave a curt nod. _At least not in you're hearing, dear uncle Sev, _he thought maliciously.

ooooooooooooo

_A week later_

Hermione jumped and winced as a scalding hot droplet of potion hit her arm. _Too hot_, she noted, and lowered the flame accordingly. She then dropped in her carefully measured beaker of moonjuice. The potion hissed and change abruptly into a vivid crimson. She stirred it, three times, counterclockwise, then stepped back. It needed to simmer for 23 ½ minutes. She sat down with an "Oomph!" and settled herself. She was just about to reach for her book when she suddenly heard a coughing from behind her. She turned in her chair, expecting Dumbledore, but oddly enough it was Professor Snape.

"Good evening, Professor," she said. He nodded in reply, and silently moved over to the cauldron. He inspected it closely, smelled it, felt the sides of the cauldron. Then, he nodded.

"This is good. The _Soernon Pariesn_ draft, is it?" He asked. Hermione could see he was fighting to be civil. She appreciated the effort. _Wonder what happened to_ himshe thought idly.

"Yes, it is. It was the only switching potion that allowed custom designs," she said. He nodded and the two were silent for a time. Suddenly, he spoke.

"Be...gentle with Draco. He has a good heart, deep down," he said to her, carefully. Although at first Hermione hadn't wanted to tell Snape of her—the order's—plan. Finally she had relented. Now, she supposed, it was a fairly good thing.

"I'll do my best, sir," she said quietly. Not looking at her, he nodded.

"Draco needs be saved, Ms. Granger. He could be vital to our side's victory—or it's downfall. I can only hope that his—his soul," here he grimaced as though he found this kind of talk distasteful, "can be saved."

With that, he swept quickly out of the dungeon room she was currently occupying.

_That was weird_, she thought. _That was very, very weird. Who knew Snape had a heart?_

She shrugged and settled down for the—she checked her watch—16¼ minutes remaining until she could add the next few ingredients to her potion.

She flipped through the pages of her book restlessly. She was really not in the mood for this kind of tome—she preferred textbooks to be read in the early morning, and it was about six now...

Drumming her fingers on the table, she thought about Malfoy. _He doesn't seem nice to me, but then again, I suppose that since I'm a 'Mudblood' I'm not his equal. I wonder how he acts around those he considers his equals? I can't really see him being sweet, or sucking up...well, it's clear I'm not going to find out anytime soon. I have yet to see him find an equal._

Frowning, she checked her watch. Twenty seconds. She quickly grabbed her flask of moonjuice.

Ten seconds.

Five seconds.

Three seconds, two seconds, one second.

She poured the contents of the flask into the cauldron. Then, with a loud '**BANG!**,' it did something strange.

Hovering out of the potion, which had turned a navy blue color, was a small orb the size of Hermione's doubled fist. It was blue, green and white, swirled, and Hermione realized after a moment or two that it was a miniature, spinning version of the earth.

"Ah, I see we have moved to the next stage," came the soothing voice of Albus Dumbledore behind her.

Yes, I suppose we have, Hermione thought, rather faintly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend...) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

** A / N : Hi, guys! Thank all of you reviewers sooo much for the encouragement...keep them coming! Anyhoo, I tried to update as soon as I could. A note – I now the last few chapters have been kind of slow, and a bit chopped up as well. That's because I was rushing through them...I think after this chapter they should get better. Hopefully. Thanks again, guys! **

_September 1st_

Shivering, Hermione wrapped her cloak tightly around her. She was at Platform 9 ¾, but it was fairly early and hardly anyone, save for a few tremulous first years, had arrived at the station yet. _She_ was there early for two reasons, one, because she was Head Girl and took her duties very seriously, and two, because she had to leave Hogwarts the night before in order relatively on-time. Hermione thought ahead to the rest of the day. She would see Ron, Harry and her other friends...pretend to be astounded by the Head Dorms (she had already seen them, so she would have to act surprised...but then again, she supposed the acting was good practice)...speak to the prefects, settle in, and then—oh, yes, go up to Dumbledore's office, have a brief meeting, and then administer her potion.

Suddenly Hermione was grinning. She couldn't wait to see the look on Malfoy's face when he realized that _he_ was the 'Mudblood!' _Never thought I'd see the day when I could lord my heritage over Malfoy, _she thought, smiling to herself. Just then, she felt a tugging on her robes. She looked down, to see a smaller-than-small first year. She was a sylph-like girl, with light brown hair and gooseberry green eyes that were very open.

"Excuse me, miss, but what do I do? I'm new here..." she whispered. Hermione fought the urge to laugh at her last statement. _Oh, you're new? Well, I must say, you look very much in place with the sixth years, what with your 4'2 foot frame..._

"Here, let's find you a compartment and stow your bags away. What's your name?" she said, kindly.

"Kaylee..." she trailed off. Then, suddenly, her eyes darkened, and when she spoke, it was low and harsh, demanding and eerie in her tiny body. "_**You must not fail in your mission. Your life depends upon it. If the Dragon is not Persuaded, then Light will fall and it shall be the Rise of the Darkest Age known to Wizard and Muggle alike**."_

Hermione's eyes widened. Was this...real? Could this little girl really be giving her a warning—seen from within her Inner Eye?

Kaylee blinked, and asked Hermione, in her soft, sweet voice, as if nothing had happened, "What's your name?"

"I'm Hermione," she told Kaylee, and took her gently by the hand. "These are the best compartments, but you should watch out for the Slytherins, they like them as well..."

ooooooooooooooooo

"Come, Draco, we don't want to be late," Lucius Malfoy said.

"Yes, Father," Draco said smartly, not in the mood to argue. Lucius motioned impatiently to the black and grey carriage with the Malfoy seal on it. The seal was a grey shield with a black serpentine creature with wings winding around the Malfoy motto; some boring, cruel torturous words strung together to make a phrase that Draco could never be bothered to remember.

Draco opened the silver-handled door and slid in on the satin cushions. A house elf appeared to hand in Lucius. _Bloody lazy arse, cant even bother to get in a coach by himself, _Draco thought, scuffing at the floor until Lucius motioned for him to stop.

"Now, son," began Lucius, once Draco had stopped fidgeting, "remember, I want reports on those Gryffindor brats. Anything odd, uncanny, the like—report it immediately. My Lord—and yours, soon enough—wants as much background information on them as possible,"

"Yes, father," Draco mumbled. _We've been through this five billion bloody times, you old coot!_

Thankfully, the ride did not last long; the coach had a handy ability to speed through even the worst of traffic jams. They reached the station, and Lucius was handed out by the driver—Draco, of course, lowered himself out.

"Now, son, I expect you to do well this year. Do not disappoint me again," Lucius muttered out of the corner of his mouth while smirking at Blaise's father. "Now go, run off with your little friends."

Indignant at being addressed as a child, Draco strode off in the direction of Blaise, not bothering to watch where he was going. He walked straight into a tiny girl, who seemed to be chasing a black kitten. She was so light that she nearly bounced off of Draco. He muttered a 'Watch it, kid," when he noticed the girls eyes widen and darken, and she whispered, low and husky, "**_Beware the Unknown, for it will either raise you unto the Heart of Light, or drop you into the hidden, black depths of Evil, where you will be swallowed Whole._**" Then, she was quiet, looked at him for a moment, and scurried away.

"Bloody 'all-seeing' Inner Eye brats," he mumbled as he reached Blaise, who quirked an eyebrow at his muttering.

"Started talking to yourself, oh One of Prestige?" he asked Draco conversationally. Draco glared at him.

"Yes, that's right, Arse of all Asinine," he growled.

"Witty, really witty, Drake. And you're supposed to be Head Boy?" Blaise asked.

"Don't call me that," Draco said. They walked into an empty compartment and Draco waved his wand elegantly to magic his heavy trunk up into one of the provided 'cubby' holes, while Blaise struggled for a moment, before noting what Draco had done and pulling out his own wand. The train gave the ten-minute whistle as Draco settled himself on a cushion.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

"Hermione!" a familiar voice called. Hermione spun around, shouting,

"Ron!"

Ron swept Hermione up into a hug, and as he set a laughing Hermione down, a raven-haired, short boy grasped her into a hug of his own. Finally, when he let go, Hermione was breathless and rubbing her ribs good-naturedly.

"You didn't think you were going to away without a hug from your dear Ginevra, did you?" And once again, gigging, Hermione was pulled into the tight embrace of one of her closest friends.

"It's wonderful to see you three again," Hermione said. Each grinned at her.

"Hermione, you look great! Have you been actually bothering to _style _your hair?" asked Ginny, smiling. Hermione laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, 'Mione, you look...terrific," said Ron, blushing to the roots of his hair. Harry rolled his eyes behind him. Hermione smiled.

"Why, thank you, Ronald," she said as primly as possible, with a snooty smile. She broke down in giggles a few moments later. "See what you three do to me? I'm supposed to act _proper_ as Head Girl!"

"Yeah, 'Mione, but where'd the fun be in that?" Harry asked, flashing her one of his increasingly-rarer smiles.

"Come on, you lot, the train's going to leave without us" Ginny aid, hastily pushing the other three onto the train. As they found a compartment, and Ginny magicked their trunks into the 'cubbies,' Hermione looked at her watch.

"Look, I've got to go, meeting with the Head Boy," Hermione grimaced, as she suddenly remembered. "I'll see you three later, alright?" She pecked each on the cheek before disappearing down the corridor to the front of the train.

oooooooooooooo

"Granger," Draco drawled as Hermione slipped into the room, his usual cold sneer in place. _Oh boy, soon I'll have that stupid look wiped off your face, _thought Hermione victoriously.

"Malfoy," she said, businesslike as usual. "Let's get this over with, shall we?" she said, one eyebrow raised. Draco crossed his arms.

"Good, then I will be spared staring at your bushy head all day," he said, smirking.

"Good," she shot back. The two stood for several minutes, silently glaring.

"Gods, I hate you," Draco muttered, not quietly. Hermione glared furious daggers at him.

"Shut the hell up, Malfoy. If_ anyone_ here has a right to be doing the hating, it's _me_," she said, quietly blazing. Draco laughed coldly.

"Oh, let me guess, this s the part where you rave about me not knowing you and judging you on your blood and hair and all that bullshit. Yeah, Granger, shut your fat mouth. I don't give a fuck. No, I don't know you, and I don't want to, you bloody know it all, but you're so predictable I can say the damn words with you. So shut it, give me my work and shag off, you stupid Mudblood prude," he said, nastiness in every word he said. Hermione felt anger take its hold, and fought for control. Hermione raised he wand slowly.

"Never," she said, her words deadly calm, "presume to 'predict' me, you bloody bastard." She lowered her wand, but held it at the ready. Draco simply sneered.

Hermione shoved a sheaf of papers into Draco's arms, harshly. "Do these, prick. I'll do the others."

They spent the next half hour in silence, doing their work. Hermione never felt more relieved than when Draco shoved his papers at her, signaling he was done. As he slammed the door to the compartment, she heard him snarl, "Stupid Mudblood bitch."

Hermione sighed. _This is going to be harder than I thought._

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Draco sat restlessly at the head of his table at the Great Feast. He was sitting impatiently for the sorting to be over. _Hurry up and choose, you bloody hat. I want food. _

"Slytherin!" the hat finally called. _About bloody time. Good choice, hat._

Finally, after what seemed to be eons of waiting, "Zabini, Leila," was sorted (she was Blaise's younger sister—"Slytherin!" of course) and the rest of the school was left to dine as usual on the sumptuous spread before them.

Draco filled his plate with all he wanted, and began to eat, looking around the room as he did so. His eyes settled on a few choice females who he decided could perhaps be worth his while. His eyes soon flitted over to a particular, bushy-haired Mudblood. A sneer unconsciously settled on his face at the sight of her. He watched her eat, delicately, moving her neck in graceful motions in order to eat without spilling or looking undignified. She didn't even seem to realize what she was doing, nor how elegant she looked while doing it.

He uneasily tried to think of something else. Thinking of a Mudblood in the same sentence as 'graceful' and 'elegant' gave him the shivers. He cringed and settled for sending a smoldering glance at an attractive Ravenclaw girl—Padma, wasn't it?

She didn't look up. Annoyed, Draco began to toy with his food impatiently.

"Anxious? The famous, oh-so-cool Malfoy is _anxious_?" Came the mocking voice of Blaise beside him.

"Of course not," Draco replied snidely. Blaise's sister, Leila, giggled nervously. Blaise sent a murderous glare at her.

"Lei, don't you have little first year friends to make?" he asked her raising his eyebrows. She waved a golden-colored hand at him.

"All the first years are so—simple. And boring. Not to mention not the _least_ bit sly. I must say, it's disgusting. But I can see where I'm not wanted, so I'll be off, then," she said, airily. She got up and went to the other side of the table to talk to a few other Slytherin girls, a superior look on her face. Draco laughed.

"A true Slytherin, that one. You should be proud, Zabini," Draco said.

"Yeah, and they're getting rarer by the day," Blaise muttered. Draco nodded. It was true—many Slytherins were less cunning, these days, getting in only by nature of their nasty comments and pure blood.

_One day_, he thought. _One day, Slytherin will once again be strong. _

oooooooooooooo

Hermione got up from her seat, and waved a goodbye to her friends. They were going in the opposite direction from her, towards the Gryffindor dorms, whereas she was going to her new home, the Head dorms. She automatically took the right path (Left corridor from the Great Hall, right down the Hufflepuff corridor, staircase number 5445, third portrait on the right) and before she knew it, found herself in front of the portrait of a young, chubby woman gowned in a peasant dress and sweeping a lawn. Hermione nodded to her.

"Mudblood," she heard from behind her. She didn't turn around.

"Malfoy, we meet again," she said. "We need a password."

"How about, Pure Mud?" he asked. Hermione ignored him.

"Our password will be 'Night Flash,' miss," Hermione told the portrait. Malfoy shrugged behind her—he didn't care.

Hermione stepped into the doors, trying to tell herself to look surprised and awed as when she first came in.

It was a magnificent room. The common room was decorated in white, gold and green. Several couches and four armchairs huddled around the large marble fireplace, which crackled merrily. There was a bookcase pushed against a wall, and a table with several chairs beside it. A crystal and gold chandelier was thrust from the high ceiling.

Two staircases on either side led to each dorm. Hermione had checked both before, for she was very curious to see how the rooms were different. She had noted that Draco's room had been done in a forest-y green and gold, and her own, a dark red and silver. She made the appropriate 'ooh'ing and 'ahh'ing and proceeded to her bedroom, where she flopped on the marvelous black oak canopied bed and sighed. She wriggled restlessly, feeling slightly bizarre.

She felt as if she were about to leave home. She felt like she should go run to the Gryffindor 7th Year Boy's dorms and hug and squeeze Harry and Ron, and tell them that she would miss them.

But, of course, she couldn't. _Bloody 'top-secret' mission,_ she thought, angrily smacking a pillow.

She sat up straight. What was with her lately? _First I'm happy, then sad, then depressed, than angry? God, what is with my mood swings these days?_

Sighing again, Hermione slowly stood up in front of her mirror, who lazily acknowledged her with a, 'Hello, dear.' Hermione smiled half-heartedly. She examined herself. She had dark rings about her eyes from studying, but it was _necessary_. Sure, she seemed a bit thinner than before, but she had been stressed. _Jeez, I need a vacation, _she thought. _Thank god I'm about to get one—well, sort of. _

Hermione stretched, glanced one more time in the mirror, and then headed outside, heart pounding. It was time for the Head's meeting with Dumbledore—time to administer the potion.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Draco stood in front of the stone gargoyle awkwardly. _What in bloody hell is the password this time?!_ He had been told the password in his letter, but he had forgotten, of course. He heard footsteps behind him, then, and whirled around.

"Relax, Malfoy, its just me," Granger said crossly. She turned to the gargoyle and said, crisply, "Marzipan Strawberry,"

The gargoyle sprung aside, and, pushing Granger aside, Draco ignored her squeal of protest and started up the stairs. He reached Dumbledore's office, and hesitated before opening the large door. Finally, he reached out and pushed the door gently. It creaked open to reveal Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, eyes twinkling and his long fingertips serenely together under his chin.

"Ah, good, Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger. Congratulations on your posts, both of you. Now, shall we get into specifics...?"

He proceeded to tell the two about the duties of the Heads. After about three minutes, Draco tuned him out, unaware that this was exactly what Dumbledore and Hermione had planned.

_Could this be any more boring? _Draco thought acidly. He had better things—not to mention people—to do. He began planning how to capture the Ravenclaw girl he had been eyeing..._Hmm...Ravenclaw...seduction seems a good plan..._Lost in his devious plots, he failed to notice when Dumbledore asked him a question.

"Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Malfoy?"

"Hum?" Draco asked, snapping out of his reverie. "Er—sorry, drifted off for a second there..."

"Quite alright, Mr. Malfoy, it happens to the best of us. I was just asking you if you'd like a bit of tea," Draco failed to notice the twinkling that accompanied this statement.

"Yes, of course," Draco said, still feeling foolish for being caught drifting off. He watched Dumbledore carefully pour him a cup of fragrant, deep brown tea. Dumbledore handed him the fine china cup.

Draco lifted the teacup to his lips and drank deeply from it. He noticed that Dumbledore and Granger seemed to be staring, and quickly Hermione sipped her own tea as well. Dumbledore didn't seem to have a cup.

_Funny, this doesn't taste quite normal, _he thought dazedly. _It must be foreign._

That was his last coherent thought as he fell into a psychedelic, swirling vortex of color.

** Hope you liked! Sorry I left you off at such a cliffhanger...but what can I say, I'm sadistic. Slightly. Now you see why the chapters will be better? Finally, I get to the good part!** **Oh!** **One more thing...I added in Kaylee, along with Leila ( hee hee, that's my name, had to put it in there ) Zabini, though in general I dislike OC's...tell me, do you think they're horrible? Anyways, this is dreadfully long, so I'll say one more thing and be off...REVIEW PLEASE! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend...) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N : Whoa, so sorry this took soo long! More about that later; I don't want to give anything away...but anywho, I'm really sorry if this is a bit rough around the edges, because I was in a hurry to post this so I didn't really edit it...oh well. Thank you everyone who reviewed SO much! Reviews are real encouraging, no matter length, content and all that. Keep it up, guys! And be sure to read the Author's note at the end, I would really appreciate it... Hope you like!**

Draco was falling, falling through color so bright and vivid it hurt his eyes. He closed his eyes tight, welcoming the semi-darkness that enveloped him. He willed the shade to close in completely, to block out the swirls of color that burned through his eyelids.

Mercifully, oblivion came.

Draco came to in a warm room. Blearily rubbing his eyes, he pushed his comforter off him. He stretched on white cotton sheets as an alarm clock went off.

_Wait—what the fuck?!?!?! _Draco's mind screamed. _My sheets aren't white, they're black! They aren't cotton either! WHERE ARE MY BLACK SATIN SHEETS? And why is there a bloody alarm clock?? I'm not a Muggle—wait! Where am I? Wasn't I just in Dumbledore's office?!?!_

Draco sat up. As he did so, a flood of 'memories' that were his—but not his—rushed up to greet him.

**_He was Draco Granger, Head Boy and top of his class. His best friends were Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. He had a certain charm, as well as, of course, good looks, but his know-it-all, book-worm-ish behavior didn't tend to land him many dates._**

_Shit!!!!!_ He inwardly screamed.**** **_He was a Muggle-born wizard._**

_SHIT!!!!!!!_ He once again inwardly bellowed. **_He was a virgin. _**Putting his head in his hands, he let everything rush over him.

**_His parents were John and Laura Granger. They were dentists. He was an only child. His best subject was Charms—well, actually, he had perfect marks in everything in potions. In that class, he was about three points away from the ideal. His favorite book was _Magic In History, _or perhaps _Five Thousand Charms To Get You Somewhere_. Or perhaps...well, he had many favorites. _**

_In conclusion, I'm a boring, bookish fart_, he thought angrily. More particulars about 'himself' rushed over him. Once all the facts about him settled in, and as he was about to rise from the bed, his memories set in on him.

**_His letter from Hogwarts. Saving the world countless times from Voldemort. His best friends, just hanging out together. His letter about becoming a Prefect, then Head boy. His parents teaching him random facts in the car. His Muggle friends. His girlfriend who he was steady with until they mutually decided to break up. Ginerva Weasley, who he once had a kind of thing for. Studying some text in which he apparently found fascination. His trip to Wizarding France. His dorm at Hogwarts. His wand. His trips to Diagon Alley._**

On and on, memories of good times filled his head. He digested these memories slowly. After about fifteen or twenty minutes, more streamed into his mind—but these were memories of a different sort.

**_Being petrified by the Basilisk. Being hurt, scared, and anxious while saving the world from Voldemort. Being taunted by the Slytherins. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. A masked Death Eater, sliding masculine, sweaty, disgusting hands over his slim, lean body until Harry had come to save him, just in time—. Being beat up by some unruly Slytherin students. Mudblood. His parents—in the next room—whispering—freak. Freak. Freak. The students, whispering, bookworm. Bookworm. Bookworm. All the girls ignoring shy, sweet Draco in favor of complicated, bolder Harry and gangly, outspoken Ron. Being ignored by everyone. His Muggle elementary school 'friends,' whispering—sometimes speaking loudly—rumors. _**

_Bloody fucking Merlin, _Draco swore. Could his day get any worse? Yes, of course it could, because his mother called up to him, "Draco! Breakfast, darling!" _Bloody wonderful. Now I must consort with Muggles. What the bloody hell happened??_

"Yes—Mother!" he added quickly, repulsed. Hesitantly, he stepped out of his room. His body seemed it know the way around this house, as well as Draco Granger, but Draco Malfoy felt lost.

Suddenly, he smelled something. Something _good_. Growing up in a house run by house-elves, he hadn't ever smelled the delicious scent of freshly made pancakes wafted through a medium sized house.

He walked into the kitchen to see his mother—but _not. _It was Narcissa Malfoy's outward looks, but she was wearing Muggle sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt with the words, "VIOLENCE IS NOT THE ANSWER: NOT NOW, NOT EVER!" sprawled across it. She was flipping a few gorgeously golden, brown speckled pancakes. **_Chocolate chip pancakes—his mum's specialty, _**the Draco Granger inside of him said. Draco had only ever had pancakes a few times, when at Blaise's—his own parents thought them disgustingly rich.

"Morning, hon," she said, smiling widely at him. This was a new experience for him—he didn't remember ever seeing his real mum smile at him like that. "Sleep well?"

"Mm, yes," Draco said, smiling. _Where in holy hell did _that_ come from?? I did NOT mean to say that. Or smile._

"That's good, sweetie. Are you all packed for Hogwarts already?"

"Yes, Mum, I did it last night," he said, once again without meaning to. He began to ferociously attack his heaped plate of pancakes. Only when he was savoring his last bite did a new thought other than 'Eat, man, eat!' enter his mind.

_I wonder if I can only speak automatically? Can I say anything? Oh, well, can't hurt to try, _he thought.

"Mother, did you ever wish that you had the advantage of magic, like me?" he tried. It worked. He inwardly sighed with relief. If he hadn't been able to—why, it would be like being a prisoner in his own body.

"Mmm, not really, it wouldn't quite suit me. I prefer my probing instruments to a wand, thank you," she smiled. Draco felt his own lips tug into a smile. "Now, sweetie, go upstairs and check that you haven't forgotten anything."

"Mum, you know I don't forget things," Draco 'whined,' but compliantly got up to go upstairs. He had reached the staircase when he felt a large hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his father behind him, smiling slightly. Draco felt his heart spasm. It was Lucius Malfoy, but—not. It was eerie how the man before him had the same slate gray eyes as his father, the same straight nose, elegant facial features, but completely different.

_I think the Muggle life suits you, Father, _Draco thought, maliciously gleeful at his incriminating new information.

"Good morning, son. I'm sorry I have to leave you so soon, but I must be off—one of my patients desperately needed an early fill job," his father explained. Draco felt his mouth turn up once more into a smile.

"Its okay, Dad, I'll owl you later," he said and rushed up the stairs before his father could hug him, as he supposed was customary. He was sure that his father was a nice guy—well, not really, but perhaps to Muggles, he was—but hugging someone who looked so exactly like Lucius Malfoy (except that he had laugh lines, of course) was uncanny.

Draco opened the door to his room. He supposed he should change into something, but he hadn't much of an idea of what Muggle things went together. He racked Draco Granger's mind. It was odd; he had a sort of...additional part of his brain that was solely Draco Granger's.

After a few moments of unsatisfying combinations of strange Muggle clothes, he finally decided to dress simply, in dark denim jeans and a black t-shirt that hugged his hest quite appealingly, he thought.

As he was dressing, Draco realized that there were some things a bit off about his body. First off, almost unconsciously he held himself slumped, bent over and almost hiding himself. Secondly, his scars were still there, but—different. They didn't look so much a purposeful beating anymore, more an accident. Lastly, he was—for lack of a better word—_softer_. Draco Malfoy was pampered and preened, but every inch of his skin was deliciously firm to the touch, whipcord muscle from hours of training—swordplay, wand dueling, Quidditch, everything. This—Draco Granger—was soft—trim, in shape, lightly defined, but yielding. Draco felt vulnerable.

Draco supposed he was upset, but he couldn't find the strength and energy to be _too_ pissed off—once the initial shock had worn off, of course. This was sure as hell no picnic, and he was not enjoying it, but these things happened all the time. Being a pureblooded wizard, he was raised from a young age to expect just this type of thing.

'_If you ever find yourself in this kind of situation, darling, don't panic. Everything will come to rights, always,' Narcissa had said._

'_For god's sake, woman, stop coddling the boy, he needs to figure it out for himself,' Lucius had said, eying his then-young son distastefully. Narcissa simpered sweetly._

It was one of his first memories. It portrayed perfectly the relationship of himself and his parents—his mother's fussing love, and her need to please her husband, and his father's detached love and high hopes for a strong, traditional son.

"Draco, dear, the cab's here!" His 'mother' called from downstairs. Draco, sighing, ran a hand through his hair—an unconscious habit of this new body, he supposed. Picking up his trunk, he carefully brought the loaded thing down the stairs and into the hands of an awaiting cabby. His mother fondly kissed both cheeks.

"I'm sorry I can't come with you, dear," she whispered, looking sadly at her beloved son.

"Its okay, Mum. I love you," he said. _Jesus, I can't believe I just said that._ Draco thought, rather forlornly. Hugging his mother once more, he got into the cab.

_I suppose the easiest thing to do is go along with this bloody life, _Draco thought, rather irritably, as he picked at the fraying, fake leather interior of the cab. _I just better bloody get out of here soon. _

Fifteen minutes later, still silently brooding, he arrived at the station. He gave the cabby and ungainly wad of paper money—somehow, he knew the money system—and hefted his trunk out of the boot of the car. He slowly walked through the station until he found Platforms 9 and 10. Taking a deep breath, he jogged, his trunk spinning rather wildly in front of him, through the barrier. Heaving a sigh, for reasons inexplicable even to himself, he was filled with a sense of relief.

_Finally. Home. Well—the wizarding world, anyhow. Not _quite_ home._

He was just about to saunter—or slouch, actually, as his new body seemed apt to do—onto the train, when a short, red-orange topped blur hurled itself upon him.

ooooooooooooo

Hermione woke from swirling colors to find herself trapped under a heavy weight. Her inner instincts of Hermione Malfoy told her to slit her eyes open slightly, imperceptibly, until she got a better idea of her surroundings. Although reluctant, Hermione obeyed her inner self's wish.

Hermione almost gasped when she saw what, exactly was laying about her.

It was a _man_.

And not just any man, either—one of the most handsome men she's ever seen. He had dark brown hair, long eyelashes pressed to his cheeps in sweet slumber, his sensual mouth fully closed. He had a highly muscled torso—a bit too muscled for her tastes, actually—and was seemingly tall, from what she could tell while lying beside him.

He was also completely naked.

As was she.

Hermione Granger wanted to blush. Hermione Malfoy wanted to smirk. _Goodness, I suppose I wont get very far if I just let my normal old bookworm self handle this! _She thought desperately.

It was then that the tidal wave of memories hit her. Unlike Draco, she did not have to bear through the facts—she had made sure she knew them beforehand. Never moving a muscle, Hermione waited through her flashes of the past.

**_Her first broomstick. Her best friend, Blaise Zabini. Endless presents. Being the Princess, the ruler, of the Slytherins. Lording over all others. Losing her virginity. Receiving the Head Girl letter. The look on her parents face when she managed to please them. Being captivating, alluring, mysterious to the opposite sex—and ...playing with them. Her discovery of dancing. Being carefree, young, vibrant. Numerous half drunken parties, with herself as the center of attention._**

Her memoirs of good times seemed to stretch on. Most, it seemed, portrayed Hermione as a free-spirited but extremely sophisticated and yet—contained young woman. Also, inwardly blushing, Hermione realized she had been with _quite _a few guys. Hermione had no idea that this was the type of life Draco had lived. Suddenly, the worse memories struck.

**_Crucio. Having to act prim and proper. The Golden Trio. Pansy Parkinson. Arguments about her future. Punishments. Whispers—'Slut, thinks she's better than everyone else, bitch.' So few—so few to confide in. Being showed up by a Mudblood. Displeasing her parents—her father. Stereotyped, always. Never being able to do EXACTLY what she wanted, when she wanted—always had to be approved. Being rim and proper as a showcase daughter. Crucio. The constant worry that she was going to see her father killed, put in jail—whatever. _**

Hermione had never known that Draco had lived that way, either.

She could mull on this later. Now, she had to wake the beauty that was lying beside her, still sleeping. Hermione stretched into her memory and personality of Hermione Malfoy. _What's his name? How do I wake him?_

_**Jon Moonstrum. Do something—daring, wild.**_

Frowning, Hermione pondered how to do this. After a few moments of thought, she made a rather brazen plan.

Shifting, catlike, Hermione slipped out of Jon's grip. Before she knew it, she had elegantly straddled him, her skin coming in full contact with his shapely buttocks. Jon started awake, though his eyes were still closed, and Hermione slid her hands up his back and lowered herself down until she was lying on top of him.****Hermione felt dirty. _I suppose that compared to last night, this is tame, though, _she thought to herself.

Jon's eyes opened to reveal achingly cerulean blue eyes. He smiled slightly mischievously at her, still a bit bleary.

"Morning," she whispered in his ear.

"Good morning to you too, wildcat," Jon replied, smiling. Gently, he disentangled their two bodies so that both he and Hermione could sit up. The sheets pooled about Hermione's trim, curved waistline and Jon leaned in to kiss Hermione briefly, chaste but for her slightly open lips.

"You'd better go," Hermione said silkily to him, once he had pulled away. "I have to leave today." Jon nodded. Hermione wondered why he didn't even seem a bit hurt that she was dismissing him so easily. To her, this entire ordeal seemed horridly—soiled, and yet burningly cold.

"I suppose I'll see you next summer, or your next break, or whenever," Jon said as he raised himself from the bed and picked up a heap of his clothes from where they had been discarded the night before. Hermione smiled a pouty smile as he dressed, running her eyes over him though inside she wanted to look away.

"Owl me, love." Jon said, by way of farewell. She nodded and he grinned, a beautifully genuine thing. With a small pop, he Disapperated.

Hermione sighed deeply. It was going to take a while to get new to this lifestyle, even if the silk sheets did help. Hermione stood.

Pulling a bathrobe over her nakedness, Hermione opened the door which she instinctively knew to lead to her own bathroom. When she opened the door, she gasped.

It was a truly beautiful bath, all marble blackness. Hermione turned on the shower and stepped into the instantly perfect temperature water.

As she let the water was over her, Hermione thought about her temporary life. She hoped that Malfoy could deal, and learn that the Light side was in the right. _This life certainly seems glamorous, _Hermione noted. She wasn't really a glamorous person, but she could definitely deal. _Come on, Hermione. Live it up while you have it._

This firmly good outlook on life stuck steadfastly on, Hermione got out of the shower and slipped into a rather floaty robe that comprised of several layers of sheer silk. She ran a hand through her hair, remembering from Hermione Malfoy's memory that she had used a Permanent Straightening Potion since she was eight and her had had become unruly. Hermione missed her loose curls, in a way. Her hair was sleek and straight and shiny, but it just wasn't her anymore. None of this life was.

Hermione applied light makeup—something that felt foreign to her but her hands seemed to have a mind of their own—and then, finally, gracefully opened the door of her room and stepped into the rest of Malfoy Manor.

It was an enormous place, and gorgeously built, in a cold, still way. Hermione's feet did not allow her to dawdle, however—she walked straight to the Breakfast Dining Hall without waiting to look about. As she entered the room, her father's voice greeted her.

"Hermione, how _wonderful_ to see you," her father said, himself, yet—not.

"Gold morning, Father, Mother," she said, slipping into her seat. Her plate was already filled with an elegant, neat fruit salad and an impeccable omelet. She cut her omelet and was about to take a bite when her father's cool voice interrupted her.

"I thought I told you no—visitors—last night,"

"I'm sorry, Father, it must have slipped my mind. You should have knocked," she said, innocently. Her father gave her a hard look but said no more. Her mother's eyes gleamed and she looked as if she wanted to say something, but of course as a Trophy Wife, she wouldn't dare speak out.

The meal was conducted in silence. Once her father had stood—and he stood more proudly, now, Hermione noticed, and looked more aristocratic—she was dismissed from the table. As soon as she had gotten to the door, her mother, looking more polished and trim, not to mention out of place in riobes, grabbed her wrists.

"So? Who was it? Was he any good?" her mother breathed excitedly, always the gossip. Hermione laughed softly and told her mother the events of the past night. This seemed a ritual for the two—_mother-daughter bonding time over sexual conquests, who would have thought?_ Hermione wondered, slightly amused.

"You'd better be off dear, the carriage is waiting for you. Owl me, wont you? Your father is at a—meeting, but he said to tell you goodbye and that he loves you," Her mother said, in her sophisticated but slightly ditzy manner. Hermione smiled at her mother, pecked her cheek, and got into the horseless carriage that was waiting for her.

_On to Hogwarts, at last_, Hermione thought, a bit relieved.

**Thanks for reading thus far, guys! Now, the reason this has taken a while to post is because I'm having a bit of trouble with some stuff (O, the eloquence!) in the story. No, I don't mean writer's block, because this story is flowing pretty easily off my fingertips. The thing is, I'm having some trouble with some plot details, such as: Should Hermione's mother be Narcissa Malfoy? Or her own mother, only with Narcissa's attitude? Should Hermione be as close to Blaise? Should Draco be a virgin? Etc. I would appreciate it GREATLY if you would review me on these topics and others that you have ideas on. Also, if you want to be a complete luv, and want to help me work through these things right as I write the story, my email is lrmeg17 hotmail dot com, and my AIM is dAmned l0ve. If you're interested in helping, just leave a note in your review or email / IM me yourself! Thanks a lot, hope you liked it! Review if you'd be so kind!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend…) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N : Hello, faithful (or not) readers! Sorry about the long wait, but my internet has been down for ages—pure hell for an internet junkie such as myself. But now its back—finally! And even though its 12, I still wanted to post it. Once again, excuse the roughness—I didn't edit it closely. Enjoy!**

"Draco!" Ginny shrieked happily. Draco laughed—not meaning to of course—and swung Ginny around.

"Haven't seen you in ages, Gin," he said, grinning widely. Ginny smiled back, flicking her red ponytail back. Draco was about to ask her how her summer had been when he felt a large hand clapping him on the back.

It was Ron Weasley, freckly, gangly and tall as ever. Behind him was Harry Potter, with his incessantly messy hair, short and slim frame, and snapped glasses. Draco smiled wider than ever as the three boys exchanged hellos.

His cheeks were beginning to hurt, and he didn't like Pothead or Weasel or even Weaselette using his name. It felt awkward to him, though doubtless to them it was perfectly normal. He fervently wished to go back to the normal hate relationship with them.

"C'mon, guys, let's get a compartment!" Ginny urged. Compliantly, the three young men followed her as she scurried ahead. She led them to a compartment unoccupied except for Traver—who was Neville's old frog, Trevor's, descendant. Draco resisted the urge to sneer at the slimy little thing.

As the four settled down, talking of summer and Quidditch, the train began to move. _This is so utterly boring, _Draco thought. Just as he was about to get up and excuse himself to find something more… worthwhile to do, Harry suddenly raised his wand. He locked the compartment, and then spelled it to be silent to all, eavesdroppers and otherwise.

"Guys," Harry said, lowly. Draco fought not to wrinkle his nose at the annoying and pettily general word. "My scars been hurting, more than usual. I know Dumbledore said it would, but this—well, I've blacked out for a few minutes a few times,"

Ginny gasped and put her hand on Harry's. "Why didn't you tell us before?" she asked gently.

"I didn't know it was serious," Harry replied. Ron looked at him, apprehensive.

"What do you reckon this means? Is … You-Know-Who … planning something?" Ron asked, hesitating over the title.

"Oh Ron, grow up," Ginny snapped, eyes still on Harry. "Say his name, we're going to be fighting him…sometime soon,"

Ron muttered something under his breath.

"Harry, don't you think you should tell Dumbledore?" Draco said, the words tumbling from his lips before he could even register the fact. _Jesus, I sound like a bloody pansy. Boys aren't supposed to be tattle-tales. Stupid Granger characteristics._

"No!" Harry replied quickly. "It isn't that important yet. Plus, we've dealt with this before,"

"Yes, and just look where it's gotten us," Draco said sagely._ Where HAS it gotten 'us'?! _Draco wondered. Idly, he began to look back at 'his' memories…

"Draco? Draco? You alright, mate?" Ron asked.

"Oh—uh, yeah, just spaced off for a minute there," Draco replied quickly once he realized someone was talking to him.

"Well, anyways, I have some great new Quidditch tactics," Harry said, quickly changing the subject.

"Great," Draco said, a bit nauseous at the thought of abetting Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup. "Great."

ooooooooooooooooo

"Hermione," a voice called behind her. Hermione turned to see Blaise Zabini leaning causally against the train. Hermione walked over to him, head held high, unsmiling.

"Blaise," She replied crisply. The name felt odd on her tongue. He eyed her, but his eyes showed no emotion and she could not tell why.

"Let's get on the train, shall we?" Blaise said. Hermione did not bother to reply, and instead stepped onto the train. Blaise smiled to himself.

They did not speak until they reached a compartment that was to Hermione's liking. Once Blaise had stowed her trunk away (_How chivalrous_, she thought) and the two had sat themselves comfortably down, he regarded her cautiously.

"Hermione, is something going on?" he asked. Hermione felt her heart spasm in fear. Had he found her out?

"No," she replied, careful to respond slowly and cautiously. "Why?"

He watched her for a moment. "You seem—different,"

"I'm not, you prat," Hermione said, feigning irritation.

"Ooh, is someone cranky?" Blaise asked, changing tact. Hermione silently breathed a sigh of relief.

"Malfoys are never 'cranky,' Zabini," she replied tartly.

"I beg to differ, Miss Malfoy," he said, a glint in his eye.

"Really?" she drew herself up. "Well, Mr. Zabini, the views of mere peasants such as yourself means nothing to the elite such as I,"

Blaise smiled at his best friend. "Anyway, speaking of the elite, we have a problem,"

"What?" asked Hermione, constantly on alert.

"Competition, my sweet," said Blaise, standing up to rummage in his trunk for a bit of parchment.

"Competition? For what, exactly?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowed. She had a sinking feeling that this was something she should have known, as Blaise looked up at her over the parchment, startled.

"You're joking, aren't you? Competition for what we have worked at for the past _six years,_ doll face," he said, suspicious. "What the hell is going on, Hermione?"

She gave him a smile, thought it felt weak. "Nothing, Blaise, nothing, of course I was joking," she said. He watched her again for a few moments, then shrugged and went back to his parchment. Hermione saw her chance and frantically dug through 'her' mind to find what the blazes he was talking about. She relaxed as she understood.

"So, who's this pitiful competition of which you speak?" She asked, confidence giving her voice an arrogant lilt.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Pansy Parkinson, if you would believe it. She's not serious competition, but she has Bulstrode working for her. Normally, that would mean nothing, but Bulstrode does has a bit of a grudge against you," he said, the corners of his lips lifting in an amused fashion.

"Merlin, that was two bloody years ago," Hermione said, and if she weren't so ladylike, she would have snorted.

"Yes, dear, but _sometimes_, girls tend to have a bit of organ called _heart_ in them—have you heard of them?—and it tends to break when they catch their oh-so-faithful boyfriends shagging their faux-best friend," he said mockingly. Hermione laughed, a derisive, cold sound.

"She's no worry, none the less. I _will_ be the dominant Slytherin ruler—the Queen, if you will," Hermione said. Blaise wrinkled his nose at her in a most un-Slytherin fashion.

"Don't get too sure of yourself. Over-confidence is the number one cause of usurpation," Blaise chided. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. He gazed sternly back at her.

"Blaise, relax. I'm an expert at this. I'm not going to let some pug-faced bitch steal what I've had ensured for me since I was a third-year," she said.

"Hermione, we both know that you wouldn't even be in this spot of power without me. Don't take _all _the credit," he warned, eyes steely.

"Darling, I would never," Hermione said in mock outrage. Then she smiled at him. "Of course I wouldn't, Blaisey-waisey. I owe most of it to you,"

Blaise growled at her at the nickname. She laughed.

"Now, back to business," Blaise said briskly. "There's the protection list to complete, as well as the first-year initiation to think of—plus, suitors, dear," he said, eyes glinting.

"For protection," said Hermione, raising her left index finger, "We should have the same list as before—only, cut Pansy out, not to mention that git Nott—as for first years, let's leave them to fend for themselves, shall we? For the initiation, I had assumed we were doing the usual. If that's the case, we have nothing to plan—it's not _my_ place. As for suitors—oh, please, don't expect a list of my conquests, Blaise," she said. _Is this how Slytherins always work? _she wondered to herself.

"Oh, don't worry darling, I have no wish to see that," Blaise replied with a mischievous grin, leaning forward slightly, red tongue peeking out from between very white teeth. "However, the fact remains that as 'Slytherin Queen,' as you so aptly put it, you cannot become 'Slytherin Whore.'"

"Just what are you suggesting, Zabini?" Hermione asked icily, eyes narrowed.

"Relax, sweetheart. I'm just saying you can't go crawling into just anyone's bed," Blaise replied. Hermione remained tense and scowled.

"Oh, can't I? Blaise, that is _my personal business_," Hermione told him, clenching her hands in her lap.

Blaise sighed. "Hermione, it's my business if it's going to interfere with your popularity vote, not to mention your power. Which it inevitably will," he added as she opened her mouth to protest. "Look, it's not so bad. It isn't as if you'd want to sleep with any scruffy old plebeian anyway,"

"Like you, you mean," Hermione teased, ruffling his dark hair. She thought she felt him stiffen slightly for a fraction of a second at the comment until his automatic relaxed body stance came back.

_Interesting, _Hermione thought. _Does Blaise fancy her—me? I'll have to keep my eye on that—perhaps this could be used to my advantage…_

"Yes, yes, whatever you sad Madame," Blaise replied. "Now, lets focus. After this...list...we still have to…"

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Look who it is," sneered Hermione. Draco sniffed. _She really is the female embodiment of me…only not physically, of course. She looks different, though…she would have to, though, being a Malfoy, _he thought.

"Yes, look," Draco snapped at her. She rolled her eyes.

"You need a password, dears," The portrait interrupted politely.

"How about 'Pure Mud,' eh, Granger?" Hermione said maliciously.

_Just what I suggested…this is eerie._

"Our password with be 'Night Flash,' miss," He replied politely to the woman in the portrait, who smiled and clicked open.

_Just like her. This is more than eerie—its disgusting. A Malfoy with manners, not to mention morals? Father would roll over in—well, in Malfoy Manor._

He was about to enter the common room when Hermione neatly cut in front of him without touching him.

"Ladies before Mudbloods," she sneered. Draco scowled at her. He did_ not_ like this reversal of roles, and her nastiness was—well, it was _nasty_.

When he—finally—entered the common room, Draco Granger gasped. That is to say, Draco _Malfoy_ wasn't impressed. He had grown up with this type of finery his life, and thus it was no more than he was accustomed to. Draco Granger, on the other hand, was more familiar to comfortable, quaint simplicity. A plain white cotton, fluffy comforter, for example, over a sleek, cold satin thin bit of bedspread. Pretty in a warmer sort of way.

_Granger—no, Malfoy—no! Ah, hell—Hermione—doesn't look too impressed, _he noted with satisfaction. _At least she's being a proper Malfoy—Oh! Hah! The bookworm has to deal with Blaise and the Slytherins now!_ He thought triumphantly, though he realized that technically, this Hermione wasn't a bookworm. Not any more than he was, anyway.

He had just entered his room—_red and silver_—when he realized that the Head's meeting was going to begin soon enough.

_Wait—that's when the switch happened, at the meeting. Perhaps I'll get back then, too! When did the switch happen?—With the tea. I'll just have to drink some tea, then it'll be back to normal, wont it? _He sighed and rose.

_I'll just have to see._

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Granger?" Dumbledore politely asked. This was his chance.

"Yes, please," He said eagerly. Dumbledore smiled and poured him a cup. He handed it to Draco, who had to control the urge to hastily pour the whole cup down his throat. He lifted it to his lips, closed his eyes, and drank deeply.

Half-expecting to see swirling, neon colors, he opened to see Dumbledore's office. Instead of the dazed state he had felt before, he now had the scalding burn of the tea to wake him from his dreams.

He hadn't come back. He inwardly groaned, and outwardly resumed exchanging pleasantries with Dumbledore as Hermione sat, sucking sullenly (_Not suggestively_, Draco had to remind himself. He was still a male, after all) on a lemon drop.

"Well, that should be all. Owl if you have any more questions, please. Good night, you two," Dumbledore said, smiling.

Draco nodded and smiled back. _I hate being such a wuss. _Hermione smirked and ran a hand through her straight hair. It was odd seeing her surrounded by such sleekness when he was used to the wild mass of curls framing her face.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as the two left the room, he observed. Hermione pushed lightly past him and uncomfortably he walked behind her. She was walking at a moderate pace, slow enough for his long legs to ach to make larger strides, but fast enough that if he tried, he would be walking beside her.

Finally they reached their portrait. The peasant woman smiled pleasantly at them.

"Night Flash," Hermione said coldly to the portrait, whose smile faded slightly before she swung open.

Draco frowned in thought. She was quite annoying, even as him.

He had settled before the fire when Hermione had opened the door to her room. She was about to enter it when he called out, his Draco Granger side automatically taking control.

"Wait! Malfoy! Come here," he said.

"What?" she asked impatiently, from her door.

"Come here," he repeated. What fool thing was he about to say?

Sighing deeply and rolling her rich brown eyes, she took a few steps closer. "This is close as I get. I don't want to infect myself," she said bitingly.

Draco sighed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. We're going to have to work together a lot, you know?" Inwardly, he cringed. He sounded all…goody-goody. And he did not think Miss Malfoy would take kindly to what he seemed to be suggesting. He knew he wouldn't.

"What? The fact that I don't want to touch you? It isn't going to change, scum," she said, arms crossed.

"Look, we can't go on arguing like two children here. I suggest a truce, though I dislike the idea as much as you," Draco said. He prepared himself for a repertoire of insults to be slung at him.

Instead, Hermione took a step closer. "Tell me more about this truce of which you speak," she commanded.

"Well, like I said, it would be to work together. I'm not asking you to be my friend—as if I would—but, well, we just wouldn't be so hostile. If we hex each other every time we work together, we won't be very productive," He explained, Hermione considered, stepped even closer, until she was best before him. She leaned down before his chair, very close. He could feel her breath on his cheeks.

"Never," she whispered breathily, "would I lower myself to make a truce with a Mudblood such as yourself."

She was gone before he could even blush, but she didn't run. She _glided_.

Draco stared after her, stunned and humiliated. Irksome, a wormlike thought wriggled through his head uncomfortable.

_Looks like Miss Priss has become the epitome of pureblooded, aristocratic women._

He could almost admire her.

Almost.

** Thanks for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. I'm not so sure about it. Anyways, I want to clarify this—This is a Hermione x Draco fanfiction. However, I will not say that I refuse to pair either with any one else. So while the dominate pair will definitely be Draco and Hermione, there's a while to go before they realize that—so they may 'hook up' with others. Yeah, no certainty yet, but there's your warning! Anyways, review please. See you next chapter! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend…) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N : Ugh, my internet is so messed up lately. I've been losing it for a few days at a time, then getting it back, then losing it, etc. You get the idea. But so anyways, that's a reason why this hasn't been updated sooner. Also, my bio teacher has assigned us an absolute beast of an assignment—six typed pages—in our own words, no less—of research on Euglena. But I digress. See you at the end of this!**

Hermione stretched languorously in her four poster bed. She allowed herself a few minutes of laying in peace and silence before forcing herself to get up. Sighing, she slowly opened her eyes and kicked her thin silky comforter to the bottom of the bed and stretched. Glancing at the clock, she noted that it was seven—she had plenty of time to shower and relax before lessons started at nine.

She rose from the bed and padded, cat-like, to her dresser to gather clothes and a towel. The ordinary action still felt oddly bizarre, yet completely natural. Her movements as Hermione Granger were more careful, perhaps occasionally brisk. In this world, she moved as if uncalculated, and gracefully, slow as a panther.

After gathering her things, she opened the door to the bathroom. Upon first receiving notice that she would have to share a bathroom with the ferret himself, she had been quite anxious and annoyed. What if he walked in on her? Upon arriving at Hogwarts, however, she found that the bathroom automatically locked itself—from both doors—while it was occupied.

Hermione stripped off her clothes and sank herself into the reassuring heat of the shower, which had turned itself on after a muttered spell. She leaned into the spray, massaging shampoo into her scalp. Suddenly—

"Malfoy!" came the bellow of Draco.

"What is it, Granger?" she asked calmly, just loud enough for him to hear.

"I need to use the bloody bathroom!"

"Really? Hm, that seems unfortunate, as I am currently occupying it," she replied arrogantly. She could sense rather than hear his low growl of frustration. Rinsing her hair and body of any remaining soap or shampoo, she whispered the spell that would turn off the shower and stepped out slowly. Wrapping her towel around her body, she gingerly picked up her flimsy lace dressing gown and nightdress and tossed it over a shoulder.

"All clear, my filthy boy!" she called behind her.

She smiled to herself and she cast a drying spell over her hair and wriggled into her (rather unusually fitted, she noted) uniform.

All in all, it wasn't a bad way to start the new term.

oooooooooooooo

Draco stepped into the Great Hall a little bit later than he usual had. He headed toward the Slytherin table—but caught himself just in time. Rather, Draco Granger caught 'himself,' but it was much the same.

_Wait—what? No, no! It is not much the same!_ The thought frantically. He still felt a bit frazzled at just how easily he was slipping into this new world when he felt a small hand on his forearm.

"Draco? Are you okay? You look kind of—well, messed up," Ginny said tentatively. Fighting the urge to bare his teeth and growl, Draco smiled.

"No, Gin, I'm fine," he said. Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but just then Harry, from the other side of Draco, hissed—

"Look, it's the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher!" Indeed, a pale, thirty-something woman sat in the seat frequented by so many others. Professor Flitwick was attempting to engage her in conversation, but it was clear from even a distance that her attention was on surveying the hall.

"Looks like a pushover to me," observed Ron, wrinkling his freckled nose. He took a large bite of blueberry muffin. "Oondur ii 'ee wasnit ere ast nut," he mumbled through a mouthful of muffin.

"Honestly, Ron, that's disgusting," said Draco disdainfully. He himself took a prim—_I feel like one of those damned Muggle 'Bellerina' dancers_—bite of croissant.

"Yes, it is, but I wonder why," Ginny said eagerly, leaning forward to squint more closely at the woman.

"Perhaps she took a late train?" Offered Harry.

"Or maybe, Dumbledore didn't want to call attention on her," murmured Draco. Ron looked sharply at him.

"Why not? I understand why he would want to keep it quiet about Hagrid, back in 5th year. But why this teacher?" he asked curiously.

"We-ell, I'm not sure…but she looks awfully familiar. Maybe she's involved in something else," Draco said, mouth twisting in thought.

"Yeah, she does…"Harry agreed. Ron frowned.

"'Eer een er eefour," He replied, which Draco interpreted to be 'Never seen her before.'

"Yes, but you never do pay proper attention, do you?" said Ginny, raising her eyebrows. "Oy! Elsie! Had a good summer?" she called to a presumably sixth-year girl who beckoned her over. Ginny complied, leaving the three boys to themselves.

"So, mate, how was rooming with the Slytherin Slut?" Ron asked, grinning. Draco grimaced.

"Just peachy," he said. Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, but you've got to admit, the girl is pretty damn fit—"Ron began, but was cut off by protests by Draco and Harry.

"Traitor!"

"Urghhh….Ronnn…."

"You know both of you were thinking it," Ron said matter-of-factly. Harry looked away. Draco could feel his face heating up…._No! Malfoys DO NOT BLOODY BLUSH! Or think that Granger—Malfoy—No! Ugh!—HERMIONE is attractive!_

Ron snickered.

"Shut your gob," Mumbled Harry.

Ron, still looking appallingly smug, was about to retort when the post came in, along with the schedules for the new year.

"Double potions first," Groaned Ron, forgetting his won argument.

"It really isn't that bad of a class, Ron," Draco said. _I sound like I have a right stick up my arse. _"Okay, so it is," he agreed.

"Damn right," Harry replied fervently.

ooooooooooooooooooo

"O-o-oh, Hermione, I just lo-o-o-ve your robe," crooned Millicent Bulstrode, her tone sounding very odd indeed with her gruff voice. Pansy sullenly looked on.

"Yes, thank you Millicent," said Hermione, in a very bored tone. Blaise shot a warning look at her, and his little sister, Leila, peered through her lashes at her.

"Hermione?" Leila piped up.

"Yes?" Hermione replied, an arched eyebrow raised. She had begun to take the little Zabini girl under her wing.

"Do you think maybe that it's the difference in _size_ that makes your robe _sooo_ much better than Millicent's? They _are_ exactly the same, otherwise," Leila said composedly, lips quirked. Millicent, a large and boxy girl, flushed and cracked her knuckled threateningly.

Hermione, unruffled, put a hand on Millicent's arm before quickly pulling it away and wiping it on the table cloth. "Now, now, Millicent, let's not forget—little Leila here is on our _protect_ list," she said calmly while shooting the younger girl an amused look of approval. Millicent nodded stiffly. Leila grinned.

"So-o-o sorry, Millicent," Leila agreed, mimicking the girl's croon. Hermione stifled laughter, but it gleamed in her eyes.

"Come on," Said Blaise roughly to Hermione. "We've got Double Potions with the Potter Crew in five minutes,"

"Of course," Hermione said, shooting Blaise a questioning glance. He hadn't participated in the conversation at all thus far, and she was eager to see what, exactly, had been running through his mind.

Picking up her bag, she was hurried most unceremoniously out of the Great Hall to the dungeons. Once they were alone, Blaise pulled her into an empty dungeon class room. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the dust that thickly coated most o0f the room, save, oddly enough, the desk.

"Urgh, Blaise, why'd you pull me in _here_?"

"Look, Hermione, we don't have much time. All I have to say is that you better snap out of whatever funk you're in right now, and you'd better do it quick. What the hell was that display put there?! You're the Slytherin Queen, so make some action, don't let everything simmer while the cauldron-fire's off!" Blaise said, very quickly.

Hermione's expression became stony. "I don't see what business it is of _yours_, Zabini," she spat. "But I will bloody well do what I—"

"That's the girl," Blaise said, beginning to smile. He ran a careless hand through his hair, mussing it horribly. "Now, look, we've only got a few minutes till potions, we'd better hurry," he said. Hermione frowned at him, but then nodded. Who was she to question the madness of this Slytherin?

oooooooooooooooo

Draco slumped in his seat next to Parvati Patil. He wasn't quite sure _why_ she was in this class, but he was not very happy about it. He had hoped to get rid of her (in the kindest way possible, of course) this year, as it was NEWT-level potions, notoriously hard. He wondered idly how she had even made it; from his unbiased Slytherin viewpoint, she was a silly, petty girl who was far too interested in him—in both worlds, though more pleasantly in his own, _real _world—she simpered and fluttered, but at a distance, as he was Slytherin and she, Gryffindor.

"Ooh, look who it is," said Parvati suddenly. "It's that slut—did you hear," she lowered her voice secretively, "she slept with HALF the boys in out year!"

"Parv, that's wonderful and all, but I'm trying not to get sick first period," he said tiredly, looking up to catch Hermione smirking at Pansy Parkinson, who looked quite annoyed. _Well, its good to see she's at least carrying out the Malfoy name well, _he thought, his own smirk forming on his lips. Parvati looked at him oddly.

"What are you doing? You look like Malfoy," she said curiously.

"Oh—uh, imitating her," He said, keeping his eyes on her. As if she felt his gaze, he looked up into his eyes, lip curling. _Hey! That's _my _lip curl! _It was eerie to see someone act so much like him.

_Wait—if she's just like me, does that mean that Draco Granger is exactly like Hermione Granger? Hmm…how can I use this to my advantage?_

Know thy enemy, his father had always said. Then again, this father had also said that pain was just weakness leaving the body, and that was patently false.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to listen to listen to 'her' thoughts…

ooooooooooooooooo

"Granger," Hermione said coolly from mere inches behind him.

"Look, Malfoy, would you just bugger off? I'm trying to get to class here, you despicable bint," said Draco, thoroughly annoyed.

In an instant, she had him pressed against a stone wall, her knee precariously near his groin. "Listen here, Mudblood," she hissed into his ear. He could feel her breath against his neck and shuddered. "Let's get this straight. I am the superior in this…relationship, if you will. Don't you dare try to tell me what to do or speak to me so…" she blew quietly along his jaw line, giving him shivers, "insolently,"

"G-get off me, Malfoy," he stuttered. _That's interesting, _he observed._ Granger seems quite susceptible to…sexual temptation. _He carefully filed this tidbit away. _I always knew she needed to get laid._

Hermione smirked and pulled away roughly.

"Dumbledore left us some work to do. We're excused from afternoon classes," she said airily, not bothering to look at him even as she gracefully sauntered toward their portrait-hole. Still a bit weak-kneed—_curse this pathetic body!_—it took a moment for him to follow.

When she reached the portrait whole and concisely said to the woman, "Night Flash," she finally turned to Draco. "Well, aren't you coming?" she asked disdainfully, hands akimbo.

He grunted in reply and hurried after her. She climbed into the portrait hole before him, as usual, and almost pulled the portrait closed on his fingers before pretending that she had forgotten that he was climbing in the portrait hole after her.

_Bloody Merlin, _he thought bitterly. _Am I always this annoying?_

Ten minutes later, while bickering viciously over the masses of paperwork that Dumbledore had left them, he concluded: _No. There is no way in hell I can be that snooty. Or, actually, maybe I am—but in a sexier way, _he thought, smirking.

"What the bloody hell are you stealing my smirk for?!" Hermione asked, fury concentrated to an ice-cold point. Just like him, he realized. He never blew up until things piled up on top of him. Unhealthy, he realized, but a tactic all the same.

"Huh? Oh—I, uh, wasn't," he said awkwardly when he realized she was waiting for an answer. She sighed, with an expression that stated that she felt as if she was working with the criminally stupid. Suddenly irritated, he scowled. "Listen, you pureblood cow, just because I bloody smir—" _Smirk_, he was about to say. He never go to finish the word, though, because he suddenly felt himself pinned back to the wall, this time with a spell.

"Listen here, you little Mudblood-ed shit," she began. Draco would have laughed if his lungs—and whole body, in fact, hadn't seemed to be constricting. Her, five-foot-something, was calling him little. He towered over her. "I'm not going to put up with any of your damned impudence, you filthy being, you," she said calmly, and he felt his lungs contract more tightly only to loosen seconds later, to leave him gasping.

"What the fuck was that?" he spat—only to realize, looking up suddenly, that Dumbledore was standing before him, Hermione's wand in hand.

"I will not stand for this type of behavior," he said in an uncharacteristically clipped voice. "The two of you had better shape up, and better shape up quick. This is your warning. If I see this type of behavior again, I will not hesitate to strip _both_ of you of your badges," he added.

"Yes, sir," Draco said meekly. Hermione nodded and bowed her head.

"I'm glad you two understand, because you will be increasingly working together as the year goes on," he said. "I will leave you to your work, now. But once more—I warn you, no more of this business."

With that, he turned on his booted heel and left.

_Well, _Draco thought dazedly, _That was odd._

oooooooooooo

Hermione, in her room, paced slowly, thinking.

_Perhaps through this, I can look into Draco's mind and see if he is truly evil._

Hermione was unruffled by the threats made my Dumbledore. She had frankly been expecting something of the sort, and the shock that had registered on Draco's face clearly displayed that he hadn't. _Perhaps he isn't so smooth as he thought, _she smugly reflected.

Sitting on the bed, Hermione rubbed her back idly. Once she had thoroughly stretched herself, she laid back, head resting gently on a stain throw pillow. Trying to clear her mind of all _her_ thoughts, she allowed herself to sink into Malfoy's persona completely.

Thoughts, not hers, whirled as she gently reached out with her mind.

**_Father is such a bloody prat, _**was one. That sounded promising. She delved further.

**_I wish he could accept that I'm not him. A lot _like _him, perhaps, but not _him_. I just—well, I wish I wasn't so much of a disappointment. _**

This was interesting. She had always assumed that Draco wanted to be a carbon copy of his father, from the long golden hair (so different, yet alike, from his son's) to the black death-eater mask. Intrigued, she pushed deeper into 'his'mind.

**_Pansy's so bloody annoying. _**No, nothing she didn't know.

**_I want that new Firebolt so bloody badly. _**Definitely not worth her time.

**_Why are Blaise and his family neutral? Do they not see it will only get them killed, by one side or the other? _**Interesting, but something she could always come back to. Right now, she was looking for something more substantial.

Ah, there was something. She had dived into his subconscious, that he couldn't even access.

_**I'm afraid of becoming a death-eater—not to mention the Dark Lord.**_

She could definitely work off _this_ bit of information.

** I know, not the best chapter. I'm just trying to give some background, though—I want you guy to understand that they have access to the other's mind, a very vulnerable place for the other. Things will get more interesting as things go on, I promise. Thanks for all your reviews, as always (I love how faithful so many of you guys are!). Leave me so encouragement! See you in chapter—eight, is it? Whoa. Anyhoo, hope you like, even though I don't particularly. Constructive criticism is always accepted! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend…) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

** A / N :Hey guys! It's chapter eight! Thanks for the reviews, etc, etc. Uhh….not much more to write here. Hope you enjoy! **

Hermione yawned widely. It was _far_ too early to be awake, but the insistent tapping at her window made it impossible to get any rest. Stretching, catlike, she rose from her bed and went to her window, where a charcoal-grey owl was hovering.

She opened the window, and the majestic bird flew into her room. Without resting, he promptly stuck out his sharply taloned leg, where a letter was neatly tied. Hermione unfastened the parchment, and as soon as it was detached, the owl hooted softly and flew out of the still-open window.

Hermione unfolded the letter. On it was one simple line of writing.

_Hermione_, it read.

_Come outside your common room._

_-B._

Irked, Hermione pulled a silk robe over her rather scanty night slip. She hurried out of her room to portrait entrance, which she pulled open, with a squawk from its peasant occupant. Sure enough, Blaise stood there, arms crossed. Hermione quickly grabbed Blaise and pulled him into the common room.

"What the hell are you doing here at bloody—"she checked the clock in the corner, "four in the morning?! I need my sleep!"

"Nice nightgown," was all he replied, eyebrows raised, impressed. Hermione let out a sigh.

"Please don't tell me this is just a pleasure visit," she said. Blaise's lips quirked at her wording. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Why? Don't you want to see your dear friend Blaise?" he asked innocently. Hermione smirked. "Don't answer that. But no, I haven't come for simple—pleasure. I've come to warn you,"

"Oh, how ominous," Hermione deadpanned. Blaise laughed shortly.

"Well, it's about Pansy, so not really. But also, Goyle was snoring and I couldn't sleep," he admitted.

"Blaise…" she said, very much exasperated. "You can't live in my dorm, you know."

"Can't I?"

"We are _not_ having this conversation right now. Just tell me what you need to," Hermione snapped.

"Feisty," Blaise observed. Then, seeing her eyes grow colder, he went on. "I was just, you know, doing my rounds, when I overheard Pansy talking to that cow of a woman, Bullstrode. They were, of course, discussing you,"

"And what exactly did they say?"

"Well, my dear, the war of humiliation has been unofficially declared. Whichever girl wins the war, wins the house title. Of course, she wouldn't tell you this. We need some retaliation,"

"Well, what was her first move? Did you hear?"

"The old ink-over-designer-robes trick. Very easy to counter with a reflecting charm," he said, with a sigh.

"What pitiful competition. Honestly, the _ink_ trick? How sad," Hermione drawled.

"Well, yes, but we've always known that Pansy isn't the brightest torch out there. Have you got any dirt on her?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Well, actually…"

"Don't tell me. I want a surprise," Blaise said. Hermione laughed.

"Come on, my silly boy. It's way too early to be awake. You can sleep on the floor beside my bed,"

"What, no room for me in your bed?" Blaise asked, giving her a mock pout. Hermione shook her head reprovingly, suppressing a laugh easily.

"That is _quite_ inappropriate, Mr. Zabini," she chastised.

"What's my punishment? Perhaps a good whipping?" he rejoined.

"Only if you're a good little boy. Now, come on." She said firmly, and led him up the stairs. The staircase suddenly turned into a large slide as Blaise descended the stairs. He took out his wand and muttered a quick word, and after several seconds the stairs returned to their normal state. Ginning, he pounced after Hermione.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Draco pounded on the bathroom door. "Malfoy!" He bellowed. He continued banging on the door and nearly fell over when it was abruptly opened by Blaise, who was wearing naught but a towel around his waist.

"Would you shut up?" he asked lightly. Draco's mouth fell open.

"Why-why are you here?" he asked, slack-jawed. It was odd seeing his closest friend in this world, especially since Blaise now disliked him strongly.

"Company of Miss Malfoy, old chap," said Blaise disinterestedly. "Anyhow, if you wouldn't mind moving…" Not waiting for an answer, he pushed Draco aside.

Draco moved into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He quickly undressed and moved into the warm stream of water, deep in thought.

_Are—are Blaise and Hermione—sleeping together? Would he be in her room otherwise? Wait—does this make Blaise gay, since he's sleeping with Hermione, who's supposed to be me? No, come off it, can't be. But—why is he sleeping with Granger—I mean, Hermione—to begin with? Surely he doesn't find her attractive or anything? Ah, it's too early._

Ten minutes later, Draco, now dressed, was still absorbed in his thoughts. He absentmindedly went down to the Great Hall, where Ginny and Harry greeted him cheerily.

"Where's Ron?" Draco asked, snapping out of his reverie.

"Dunno," said Harry. Ginny simply shrugged.

"Draco…" Ginny said, a little bit pink.

"What?" he asked, almost too quickly.

"You've—well, you got a bit of soap-sud on your collar. She leaned over and gently brushed it off, fingers coming close to, but not touching, his neck. Harry was luckily talking to Dean Thomas at this point and didn't notice how flushed the two were.

"Thanks," he said quietly. Ginny nodded and went back to her toast.

"What do we have first?" Harry asked Draco a few minutes later. Draco thought for a moment.

"Care of Magical Creatures, with the Slytherins, I think. And then I have to see some of them again next period, in Double Advanced Arithmancy," he groaned.

"Tough luck for you there, mate. Should have stuck with Trelawney, like me and Ron did,"

"Ron and I," Draco corrected absently. He would have class with Hermione most of the day. Perhaps this would give him a chance to observe her, and, indirectly, himself.

oooooooooooooooooo

"A'righ, ge' out some quills an' ink, you lot," Hagrid rumbled twenty minutes later in Care of Magical Creatures. "We'll be drawin' this lot o' Crups. Get yerselves into groups, would'ya,"

Harry, Draco, and Ron, who had joined them after a while in the Great Hall, saying he was sending a letter, crowded around a Crup. Draco took out a quill, ink, and some parchment and was about to start drawing when Ron nudged him.

"Look," he said in an undertone. Pansy and Hermione were facing each other, anger on Pansy's face and the usual cool mask on Hermione's.

"Look what you did!" Shrieked Pansy, who had spatters of ink all over her robes.

"Well, it's your fault, isn't it," Hermione drawled calmly. "You spilled ink on me, and I have reflective charms on my robes. It naturally bounced back on you,"

"Oh, yes, so sorry about spilling it on you, _your highness_," Pansy spat. "How clumsy of me,"

"Yes, well, we already knew that klutziness is one of your faults, Pans," Hermione said, mockingly sincere. "Isn't that why that Russian bloke—what was his name, Molotov?—broke off your engagement? The day after he met you, too, poor dear. Perhaps your face wasn't to his liking?"

"You—why you!—" Pansy screeched. She lunged forward, hands, teeth, and nails flailing, to attack Hermione.

"_Impedimenta_," Hermione said, bored. "Shouldn't you," She sneered at Hagrid, who was watching them in surprise, "do something about this girl?"

"Oh! Er, righ', yeah," he said, picking up the still frozen Pansy. "I, ah, be'er take 'er somewhere to get fixed. You lot behave yerselves, now."

He walked up to the castle, Pansy under an enormous arm, leaving the class to mill about, talking.

"Wow," said Ron, looking startled. "I thought the bloody Slytherins didn't feed off their own kind,"

Draco gave a short laugh. "Shows what you know," he said, not unpleasantly.

_Wait, _he thought, confused. _I meant to say that. _Me_, not Draco Granger. Does this mean that the reactions are wearing off—or that I actually think like Granger?_

ooooooooooooooo

"A job well done," Blaise acknowledged, "even I've seen better,"

Hermione scowled at him. "I didn't see you moving to help me," she said haughtily. Blaise ran a hand though his dark hair. He tended to do that, she had noticed. It was all rather endearing.

_You did not just think of Blaise Zabini as endearing, _she thought, panicked. _Oh, god._

But there was a voice in the back of her head that disagreed. He wasn't a Death Eater, even if he was a Slytherin and consorted with the likes of Malfoy. He wasn't even that horrible.

Hermione shook her head to clear it. This really was not the time to think about this.

Suddenly, she felt a tugging at her robes.

"Duhhh, Hermione, that was really clever," said Gregory Goyle, a thick smile on his boulder-like head. She sighed. This was just one more fly to swat at.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Draco fidgeted his way all through Double Advanced Arithmancy. He had the odd feeling that someone was looking at him, and, sure enough, when he turned around, he saw Hermione staring at him. He scowled at her, but it didn't seem to stop her pointed staring.

He turned around, and resumed his note taking, but she wouldn't stop staring. Draco turned around again. She leered at him.

"Mr. Granger! Miss Malfoy! If the two if you would stop flirting and pay attention, you would know that the assignment has just been given! Copy it down, please, and be more attentive!" Professor Vector's shrill voice snapped Draco back to reality.

Blushing furiously, he mumbled "But I wasn't flirting, professor!"

He distinctly thought he heard, from behind him, "You're such a goddamn prude, Granger," but he ignored the comment.

It was the god-awful truth, after all, something Draco wasn't well equipped to face.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Draco was reclining on a pouf of a chair in the Head's common room, reading, when he felt something fall lightly, oddly, onto his head, as if from the ceiling. The said object was now in his hair, though not heavy or uncomfortable. It was, he guessed, a piece of parchment. Reaching up to feel it, he found himself to be right.

_Bloody brilliant, I am, _he thought, pleased. The parchment was ripped off a larger scroll, as evidenced by one edge being raggedly torn. He unfolded the parchment, curious to see what it was.

His expression fell for an instant—an instant that Hermione just happened to catch, as she stepped into the room.

"What's your problem, Granger?" she sneered.

"I don't have one," he said, a little too quickly. Hermione's sharp eyes focused upon the slip of paper between his fingers.

"Hmm, what's this? A love-letter, perhaps?" smirked Hermione, though inwardly her heart sunk. She was sure she knew what it was.

"Nothing! It's nothing, just a scrap of spare parchment, Malfoy!" He said, very fast. Hermione arched an eyebrow.

"Then you wont mind me seeing it, of course, I just happen to need to jot something down—_accio _parchment—why, Granger," she said, smiling coldly as she read the paper.

It read, in the same writing as always,

_YOU ARE A WORTHLESS PIECE OF FILTH, MUDBLOOD. DIE NOW AND DO US ALL A FAVOR._

"Someone _has_ been sending you love notes," she said gleefully. "My, my, what a tidbit,"

"Shut up," said Draco quietly. Draco Granger's anger was mounting.

"What's wrong, Granger, ashamed of your filthy heritage? Well, then, you'd best—" But she never got the chance to say what he'd best do, for his wand was up and pointing straight at her.

"I said, shut up, you hear?" He said, voice a soft timbre that made Hermione shiver inwardly.

"Ooh, I'm so sca—" Hermione started again, but Draco advanced on her, and his eyes, ablaze, cut off her previous thoughts.

"No, now you listen to me, Malfoy. I have put up with all—your—bullocks for six years now. But now, and I have shown a lot of bloody patience, I am getting bloody _sick _of your immature, biased insults and your bloody need to make everything about you, you conceited, prejudiced, cow! So either _back off, _and get a life, or be ready, I warn you, because I am not going to—bloody—hold—back!"

Draco panted, face slightly flushed, after this tirade. Hermione said nothing, but her eyebrows rose slightly. Her lips started to quirk into that well known smirk, but then thought better of it.

**_Merlin, but he's not so bad when he's angry, _**the Malfoy inside her mused. She felt as if an ice-cube had slipped into her stomach. Did Malfoy think that about her? She felt—like retching, in a way—but another part of her, far more detached, felt a little flattered, for all that it was Malfoy.

She snapped back to reality. Apparently, Draco was expecting a response of some kind.

"Well, well, Granger, see you've been thinking about this pretty often. Tell me, does it always get you this hot and bothered?"

He let out a little moan of frustration. She smirked.

"Moaning already, Granger, and I haven't even touched you. My, but someone's apparently got a bit of sexual frustration built up,"

Draco shook his head incredulously, apparently too enraged and surprised to answer. He stormed out of the room to Hermione's laughter.

ooooooooooooooooooo

_Smart witch, _thought Draco, while his Mudblood-half inwardly raged. _Then again, that is me making those comments, in some twisted, fucked up way. That's kind of kinky…_

_Wait! Ew! That's Granger!_

_But it's also me. Which is still wrong, but less so._

He heaved a sigh. The whole thing was so bloody confusing.

** Goodbye, annoying denial. Hello, sexual tension. What'd you think? How do you think I do with keeping them in-character? Okay? I mean, I know not exactly, but they do at least slightly resemble the characters, right? I've got some interesting ideas for the next chapter… who knows if they'll work out, though. Well, that's it, folks! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend…) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N : There you go! I hope you like it. I wrote most of it in one sitting, I just was really eager to update. Did you know that this story is 73 pages long already? That makes it my longest story ever. Of course, it does include this annoying authors note and summary and stuff. So, without further ado, I give you…Chapter Nine! Enjoy!**

Draco had been lying in bed, thinking, when he heard a tapping from his window. He went to it, and, upon seeing the tawny owl that was standing there, unlatched it. The bird flew in hurriedly and quickly stuck out its leg. Apparently, it was in something of a rush. He took the letter off and as soon as he had done so, the bird flew off.

He unfurled the parchment to find an official looking note.

_Dear Mr. Granger,_ the letter read.

_Tomorrow (September the Twelfth) you will be excused from your classes, to work on Heads' business. This is not, of course, to be taken as a mere free-day; you will be fully responsible for catching up on your schoolwork. Please report promptly at 9:00 at the Heads' conference room, which you should have been shown several weeks ago. Thank you._

_Signed,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress._

Draco stared at the letter. Heads' business? What would it be?

Still pondering this, he walked into the common room. Hermione stood there, a similar looking letter in her hand. She had a look of utter scorn upon her face. She looked up as he was about to exit the room.

"Granger, what's this about? You're Professor McGonnaDieASpinster's favorite student. What Heads' business?" she asked him. He bristled at the dig against one of his favorite teachers.

"Why don't you go ask your daddy?" he asked tartly. Hermione scowled at him. "I mean, that's how you always got your information before—that, and your position, friends, life. Gee, a real Daddy's Girl, huh?"

"You shut your face," hissed Hermione, who had gone very slightly pink in the cheeks. Draco was torn between being pleased and being angry—he knew he didn't flush easily, so he was proud of the comeback—but then again, he was insulting himself. And the insult hit home, too.

Draco quickly exited through the portrait. He knew himself rather well, and he didn't want to stick around face his own temper.

He reached the Great Hall quickly. Harry and Ron were waiting for him anxiously. They had saved the seat between them, which Draco quickly slid into.

"What?" he asked in response to their worried expressions.

"Tell him, Harry," Ron said grimly as he piled his plate with cold ham and corn. Harry looked suspiciously to either side of them. Once he was satisfied that no one was paying attention to them, he spoke.

"Look, Draco, you know how my scar's been hurting, right?" Draco nodded in reply, and Harry went on. "Well, about twenty minutes ago, it burned like mad and I—I don't know—blacked out, or something. Point is, I had this little—dream, or vision, or something, but it wasn't like the old ones that I can block," he said.

"What was it like?" asked Draco curiously.

"It's usually a scene, but this time it was like—a message. I saw loads of white light and then this voice, and it said something like 'beware the snake's servant, for he will recruit his spawn, that could be your ally' or something. Then there was this little flash and I saw this little girl's face," Harry finished grimly.

"Harry, maybe you should go ask—" Draco began, but Ron cut him off.

"Draco, don't even bother. We are not going to any bloody teacher," he said firmly, though his resolute attitude was somewhat diminished by the fact that he had a corn kernel stuck right below his lip. Draco stifled a laugh.

"Uh, okay, Ron," he said. "So, what do you suppose it means?"

"The snake's servant? Well, the snake could be Snape, he's definitely a snake—"Ron began.

"Honestly, Ron," said Draco loudly. "When _are _you going to give it up? _Snape is on our side_,"

"Alright, alright," Ron said irritably, shoving a forkful of corn into his mouth. "Wha' du' 'oo 'ink, Arry?"

"Ron, that's disgusting," Draco said, wrinkling his nose. "But what _do_ you think, Harry?"

"Well, I reckon the Snake is definitely Voldemort. And his servant—well, that's could be a thousand people, any old death eater,"

"True," Draco acknowledged. "But remember, we aren't even sure if this is real," he added. Harry nodded. Ron, however, who had swallowed his corn, only looked thoughtful.

"Isn't Lucius Malfoy thought of his right-hand man? I mean, after Wormtail died, didn't he take over?" Peter Pettigrew had been caught in the trio's sixth year, to their extreme delight.

Then, Ron's words sunk in and it all made sense. Draco felt his heart sinking. _Recruit his spawn. That means me._

This line of thought was continued by Harry, who let out a soft exclamation and said "Malfoy!"

"I wouldn't mind having her for an ally," Ron said lecherously. Draco shivered. What did this mean in the real world?

"Ugh, Ron, have some self respect," Draco said. Ron rolled his eyes and made an expression as if to say '_let's not get into this again_.'

"So, what do we do?" askied Harry, looking over to the Slytherin table. "Do we try to be her friend, or what?"

"I'm not going to forget all she's done to me—to us—just because she _might_ help," said Draco heatedly. This was really quite interesting—did she really think of him like this? Well, yes, he supposed.

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but just then Ginny slid into the seat next to Harry, and said "Hello, Draco. Harry, Ronniekins,"

'Hey Gin," said Draco, and smiled. She looked into his eyes, and even though the Granger inside him didn't notice, his real mind was screaming 'SHE LIKES YOU!'

This was getting bizarre. The Weaselette liked Granger, Ron liked or at least lusted for him—or Malfoy anyway—_oh_. _Duh,_ he thought triumphantly._ The Weasleys have switched roles, the Weaselette wants me, Draco Malfoy, and Ron—er, Weasley—wants the real Granger._ It made perfect sense to him. _Hah, she doesn't want him back! I—she—feels nothing but platonic friendship. This will crush him._

Just then he noticed out of the corner of his eye that a large owl had flown into the middle of the lunch room, and had dropped a black envelope in front of Hermione, who quickly snatched it up and shoved it in her pocket with a great deal more force than needed.

He knew the envelope, even across the room.

It was his father.

And this wasn't good. What news was this that it couldn't wait until the next day? He didn't like the looks of this, not at all.

ooooooooo

"Blaise," said Hermione out of the corner of her mouth. Get your ass up to my room as soon as you can get away."

She was edging away from the rest of Slytherin. She really wanted to open the letter, even if she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Her feet led her automatically to the portrait outside the common room. "Night Flash," she muttered. The portrait said nothing but swung open. She had the feeling that it didn't like her very much.

Hermione slid into her room as quickly as she dared. She wasn't sure if Draco was there, and she didn't want to be heard—it would only waste time and perhaps arouse suspicion.

Once she was safely inside, the door locked, she ripped open the letter. Her heart sank as she read it.

She sunk onto the bed without her usual grace, she was in such shock. This was not expected.

She was in the same position when, ten minutes later, a knock came from the door. She listlessly sat up and slunk to the door, where Blaise was standing nonchalantly. He smirked but when he saw her expression—not sad, or happy, or neutral, but strained, with a bit of anger—he stopped and genuinely asked "What's wrong?"

"See for yourself," she said bitterly.

After a moment of silently scanning the letter, Blaise looked up, his face unreadable. "So, you're going to be a death eater. I thought girls weren't allowed?"

"It's a privilege," said Hermione, looking away. "Only the best witches are accepted—like aunt Bellatrix. Blaise, I don't want to throw away my life to some crackpot who's probably going to lose anyway,"

"How do you know he'll lose?"

"Look at Potter. Look at Dumbledore, Moody, McGonagall, everyone. Look at Granger and Weasley, for god's sake. You think they'll lose? Or, even if they do, they'll completely destroy the death eaters first," Hermione said with a sigh. She looked up. "I don't want to waste my life in some stupid cause I could give a damn about. Yeah, sure, Mudbloods suck, but I like my life better,"

"I thought you'd see it that way," Blaise nodded. "Well, cant you refuse or something?"

Hermione laughed humorlessly. "What do you think?" His expression answered the question.

"At least you have until summer," Blaise offered.

"Only because they don't want stupid half trained kids in their ranks. They're incompetent as it is. Otherwise, I'd be wearing that disgusting mark quicker than you can say 'Avada Kedavra.'" Hermione replied shortly.

Blaise winced. "I'm sorry," he said meekly. She was in one of her dangerous moods, he could tell.

"Sorry isn't going to keep my forearm flawless, is it?" she snapped. He looked taken aback. Hermione sighed. "Look, I didn't mean that. I just—I need to be alone, okay? I'll talk to you some other time," she said, pushing him gently out of the room. She couldn't help but notice that he had a very muscled chest.

_You should not be thinking of this at such a serious moment, _she scolded herself.

As Blaise left, she realized that the door had been left open the whole time. And, there, sitting behind a bookshelf in a way that he obviously thought she could see him, was Draco.

_This complicated things_, she noted.

_Or, _she realized. _This could help a whole lot. _

She gave out one long, not entirely fake sigh and made a show of closing the door loudly. She pressed her ear to the door and heard him get up, apparently breathing hard, and exit.

It was going to be one goddamn long year.

oooooooo

Draco paced his room, thinking wildly on what he had heard.

_Does this mean its coming up so soon for me, too? If I stay here, will I not have to deal with it? Wait, what am I thinking—I don't want to stay here! But is this all made up, a possible future? _

_I can't believe it's already happening._

Draco had always known that he would have to join Voldemort's ranks. It was an unwritten Malfoy law—marry a pureblood, beautiful witch, have lots of fame, good looks, fortune, and magic, join the current Dark Lord. All in a life's work.

He knew it would come—eventually. He had always expected it to occur sometime when he was maybe in his twenties or so—why did Voldemort want silly teenagers fighting his wars? It was ridiculous, really. They couldn't do much, obviously. Draco had always kind of hoped that Voldemort would be defeated by Potter before he was required to join. Now, though, it seemed that wasn't an option.

Draco knew there were preparation manuals that Hermione would be sent in the six months preceding her initiation. He _had_ to get his hands on those manuals. He couldn't handle not knowing.

There was only one thing to do, then. He would have to convince his Granger side to go along with Harry and Ron's little plan to get on Hermione's good side, get close to her and—snatch the booklets. It was the only way. He wasn't slick enough in this body to steal them, and they probably could sense his rather unclean blood and, with his luck, hex him into oblivion. No, there was nothing to do but follow the plan.

How to go about it, though? He doubted—no, he knew—that she wasn't likely to fall into his trap easily. He knew himself, and he would only go along if there was something to gain. What could _he_ give _her_, though? It wasn't as if she would befriend him over a few less Head chores.

Seduction would work, maybe. But the problem was, he couldn't do that as Granger, could he? Perhaps he could somehow beguile her into seducing him? But how did one implant a thought into someone else's head? Well, he could try it soon—tomorrow, he realized, was the day he and Hermione would have Heads' work together. He smiled to himself.

He sat down and rubbed his own head. He was getting a headache, and wasn't getting any further in his thoughts. He picked up a book and idly flipped through the pages, then set it down again. He raised his favorite quill, which was lying nearby, to a scrap of parchment, but lowered it before he actually wrote anything. He was restless.

He figured it wouldn't hurt to have company. He lifted himself off his bed, looked quickly into a mirror, and headed out of the room, through the common room, down the hall.

It was only when he reached the first trick stair that he realized he was heading to the Gryffindor common room.

It was only when he had climbed inside the portrait-hole that he realized he had gone of his own free will.

_Damn._

** Okay, so I know this chapter was mostly talk and not a whole lot of interesting stuff. But now Draco has motivation, see? It was really necessary. The next chapter should be fun, though—all work and no play makes Draco and Hermione dull children! Thanks for everyone who replied, as usual. I love getting all your reviews! Thanks!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend…) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N :Soo, soo sorry for the delay. I won't lie and say I was entirely justified in taking so long, but I did have midterms, a temporarily broken computer, and also I had written five pages of this when—oh no!—I deleted it. I had to rewrite the entire thing, and it did change a bit drastically…but more about that later. I hope you like this, it was a bit of a bitch to write! **

Draco tapped his fingers nervously on the table of the gaudy, cavernous conference room. He was five minutes early, as usual. It was a bit odd being early; Draco was used to rushing in at the last minute—not that he looked _hurried_, or _flushed_, or anything. That wasn't his style. Not that _his _style mattered, not now and here.

"Ah, Mr. Granger, glad to see you are on time," Professor McGonagall bustled in, carrying several packets of paper, which she spread on the table.

Draco acknowledged her with a nod and a weak smile. _What does she expect us to do?_ He wondered.

"Now, we should wait for Miss Malfoy, who is, as usual…" Professor McGonagall trailed off as Hermione slid into the room. "Late," she finished, with a firm look of disapproval clear on her features.

"Sorry, Professor," drawled Hermione lazily. Draco inwardly bristled. That was _his _drawl!

"Since you are both here, however delayed, we should really begin so that we can fit everything in. First, you will need to each fill out these packets—one of them requires you to work together—and then, when you are done, you will move on to the next task. You should finish at about ten-thirty, at which time I will come to instruct you further. Now, I must be off, seeing as I have a rather rowdy class of first years to teach," Professor McGonagall quickly swept off, leaving no time for questions or protests.

Draco sat heavily down, and picked up a packet. Hermione did the same, albeit more gracefully.

"Do they really expect us to do all this utter bollocks?" Hermione asked in annoyance.

"Well, clearly they do, as I don't think—"

"Look, Mudblood, it was a rhetorical question. I'm sure _you_, of all people, know what that is?"

"Yes, of course, but I thought—well, it doesn't matter. Just—let's fill out the individual packets and we can deal with each other later," Draco sighed. Hermione pursed her lips but did not argue.

Draco filled out his packet, which included everything from 'What are your plans for once you graduate?' to 'What is your favorite flavor 'Bertie Bott's Every-Flavored Beans?

His mind, however, was not on what he was doing. He has found that his Granger-mind concentrated so thoroughly that his _real_ mind could go on thinking with no real conflict.

_How can I get her to trust me? I'm her, and she's me, so that should help…Ugh, this is way too confusing. _Draco knew that he wouldn't trust the Mudblood in any circumstance that he could think of. So…that left stealing the booklet, which wasn't something he fancied—the Malfoy temper was quite vicious—or making _her_ think that she was manipulating _him_.

That would work. But how could he do that?

His thoughts were interrupted by Hermione slapping her packet on the table. "I'm done," she announced.

"Me too," he replied, still thinking.

"Well, _Granger_, let's get a start on the last packet," Hermione ordered nonchalantly. He marveled at her—_his_—skill to make even the last name an insult. "You read and write. I'll do the thinking, Mudblood,"

"Don't you think that insults getting rather _old_?" he asked crossly.

"Why, Mudblood," she said lowly. "Don't you see? Years and years will pass. And you will _always_ be a Mudblood,"

"Yes, and years and years will pass and you'll always be an arrogant, death-eating prat," he snapped. Far from angering her, it seemed that she was amused.

"'Death-eating' isn't a word, you know," she informed him. He noted that she didn't bother denying it.

"Well, whatever. Let's just do this bloody packet," he muttered irritably. "One. What plans do you have for the year?"

"The normal stuff," Hermione said carelessly. "A few Balls, Halloween feast, Quidditch Cup, Hogsmeade weekends. Nothing too new or fancy, that's tacky,"

"We-ell," Draco said, considering. "Wouldn't a new tradition be fun, though?"

"No."

Draco just sighed and nodded. It was easier to agree than to fight.

oooooooooooo

"I trust you are finished?" McGonagall's voice came from the door, starting both Draco and Hermione, who were each lost in thought.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said lazily.

"Good. If you will follow me, please, I will instruct you what to do upon arriving at our destination," McGonagall told them, looking sharply at Hermione, who was inspecting her nails.

Hermione rose after Draco and followed the pair out sullenly. Inside, however, she was brimming with question, the primary one being '_What is Draco planning_?' Because she knew he was planning _something_. He had the look on his face that _she_ always got when she had thought of something, something big.

_I suppose the question isn't so much what he's planning, but how I can figure it out…_

"Here we are," announced Professor McGonagall. They were standing before a large, gilt-framed portrait. The portrait was a vividly painted flower garden, with a boy and girl no older than five or six holding hands by a bed of petunias. "Head's Secret," McGonagall told the portrait. The little girl giggled, then swung open to reveal…

It was a gigantic, open study. The room had six enormous walls. There were ten or twelve rows of bookcases, a small stone fireplace surrounded by two large, comfortable armchairs and a coffee table. It had a high-domed, white ceiling and there appeared to be a door about halfway up the dome.

This was not what made the room unique. These details were nearly inconsequential compared to the walls.

Four walls were completely filled with paintings, neon Technicolor and black and white alike. It was like a patchwork quilt, each square about 6 x 6 inches. They seamlessly fit together, although each was different—quite a few depicted people, but others showed scenes, still-lifes, flags, swirls of color. They covered the expansive walls all the way to where the dome began.

The other two walls were covered with white, black-traced blocks of the same size, each with a number—a year, Hermione assumed. Professor McGonagall stepped smartly up to one that read '1998' and tapped it twice with her wand. It expanded to about four times larger than previously.

"This," she said proudly, "is your Head Block. There is one for every year dating back to the First Head Boy and Girl. Over the course of the year, a painting will form—don't look at me like that, Miss Malfoy, you won't be drawing it—from events, alliances, the like. We, the faculty, ask that you check its progress now and again. The room we are in is the Head's Study; you may come here as frequently as you like but none excepting you two may know about it. Questions?"

"The painting will _form_?" sneered Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Malfoy. It is highly complicated and advanced magic; tiny bit by tiny bit, it will form. For example, say perhaps you become friends from enemies," she said looking pointedly at them. "The painting would most likely show a pair of disembodied, entwined hands. Yes, Mr. Granger?"

"What's the door up there for?" he asked, pointing. Hermione squinted at it; it seemed very high up. She could see that the door was a pale gray, barely contrasting with the white dome—which, she noticed, also had blocks—and had a prominent gold doorknob.

"Ah, that you will have to discover yourself. You won't be able to reach it until the last day of term," she added when it looked like Draco was about to scale the walls himself to see.

"Professor," Hermione started. "How many more blocks are there? There are years, I see, so does it show when exactly the school will fall?"

"An excellent question, Miss Malfoy," McGonagall answered stiffly. "These walls are expanding, and no, it does not predict what year the school will close. Hopefully, never. Now, if you have no further questions, I will leave you t explore for an hour. I believe Professor Dumbledore will fetch you after that."

Without waiting for a reply, she swept away.

Hermione sighed and dropped into an armchair. Draco went up to a wall and began examining the paintings.

"Fascinating," he whispered in awe. Hermione was surprised that her Malfoy side agreed with this. The idea of a painting creating itself based on events was certainly amazing.

Hermione rose too, a little hesitantly. She stepped toward a different wall, and saw that in the left hand corner there was still a tiny date.

The wall she faced appeared to be the oldest. One of the bottommost squares read "999," which Hermione herself happened to know was only about seven years prior to the founding. Her eyes scanned the wall. One square caught her eye.

It was very vibrantly colored. Strands of crimson red between flashes of emerald green colored a black-traced painting of a young woman, amazingly detailed. She looked very still and very dead, her skin almost waxy under the bright coloring. Hermione was so drawn to the picture that she didn't hear Draco approach her.

"The date says 1019. That was when the killing curse was formed, or used, or something, according to some theories," he said softly.

Hermione tried to shrug. "I don't want a lecture, save it for someone who cares," she managed, but her throat seemed very dry. And it wasn't just the Hermione Granger who felt like that. It was the Malfoy in her, too.

Draco wandered over to the bookshelves, exclaiming in delight that he realized that the bookshelves were thought-triggered—if a person was searching for books on dragon hide, for example, numerous books of that subject would appear.

Hermione remained rooted to the walls. Her eyes drew out ones in red, green, grey, black. The ones she knew must be about death. She examined each wall, ignoring the multitude of happier, prettier, more flowery artworks.

She began shaking—barely, very barely—when she saw a particularly realistic drawing of a battle scene, done only in red and gray and white and black.

There were individual people on that battle scene and she could see their scars, see their bloody burns, see their writhing in the throes of death. Wizards had their wands drawn but there were swords, too, dripping with blood and potion and god knew what else.

She only looked away from the painting when Dumbledore appeared and, seeing her state, gently insisted that she go back to her room and relax. She let him guide her there, Draco trailing helplessly like a wounded puppy, no doubt feeling guilty for not noticing earlier her reactions. Not that he would have; her Malfoy training showed through and she was sure the old man was simply some kind of empathy or something.

Hermione climbed into her bed as soon as she arrived in her room, her body shivering still, no matter how many blankets she piled on top of her. She couldn't get the figures out of her mind. They seemed branded onto the insides of her eyelids and her thoughts—Malfoy and Granger alike—were swirling.

**_Oh, God, I'm going to be doing that soon. _**It was her Malfoy side who registered it first.

She was violently ill. It didn't seem to make her feel any calmer. "_Scourgify_," she muttered.

Blaise found her in that state about seven hours later.

"Malfoy?" he asked, a little nervously. He hadn't, after all, ever seen her truly break her mask—not in this way, at any rate.

Hermione turned to him, her eyes wide with knowing. She didn't know how she was so affected by one painting.

"Blaise," she rasped. "Blaise. I—it was horrible,"

"I'm, uh, not so good with this kind of thing, Hermione. I just—I'm not the lets-confide-all-our-fears kind of friend. But I'm here," he said, awkwardly. Hermione gestured for him to come near. He complied, albeit a little hesitantly.

Hermione hugged him. He seemed very, very surprised.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I just—kind of needed it,"

"I, uh, understand," Blaise replied uncomfortably. "Hermione, I'd better go, it's almost curfew, I'll see you tomorrow." He hastily withdrew his arms from around her, kissed her forehead in a way that was too sensual to be very comforting, and left.

Hermione suddenly stiffened. **_You fool, _**her Malfoy side screamed. **_That was not the act of a dignified, pure-blooded lady! That was not the act of a Malfoy. How could you firstly feel that way—and secondly react like that!_**

_So Malfoy feels the pressure to be something, too, _Hermione thought faintly.

Hermione slammed her fist against the headboard of her bed. It felt oddly comforting. She bore the pain well.

ooooooooooo

Draco didn't have much else to do once Hermione left. The headmaster had planned some group-activities for them, he had learned, but now that she was gone he was left to simply explore the Head's Study.

He hadn't stayed long. It was fascinating, but it wasn't like he could never return and also—he wasn't really in the mood to explore. The whole Hermione-ordeal weighed heavily on his mind and he couldn't concentrate on the fascinating book he had found about Ancient Magic.

He never noticed that she was staring far too long at the painting, or that she was trembling. He supposed it was a tribute to his Malfoy-mask. He knew she hadn't cried—he would never, although he supposed some situations must be different, since she was a _girl_.

Nonetheless, it was just plain _weird_ to see 'himself' reacting that way. He hadn't really looked very well at the square, but it must have triggered something in him because he could see how much it affected her—and, in a way he supposed, _him_.

The Malfoy-mask was the whole package, from calm body movement to expressions that revealed absolutely nothing about himself. He was taught it when he was very young; quickly, it had become second nature to him. Hell, these days, he was so good at it that he barely flushed pink when humiliated.

So, since the mask was so entire, it was no wonder he hadn't noticed her state before. But—when he had, he saw something very disturbing. Her eyes, usually cold and emotionless, were filled with _something_—_some_ feeling. He couldn't name it but it looked a bit like she was being stabbed and then having the knife wrenched around, and she couldn't stop it.

That wasn't exactly what scared Draco the most.

What scared him was that he thought he might actually feel _sorry_ for her. For a moment, he had forgotten that she was him and he was her—_God, that's confusing to think_—and he had actually felt _sorry _for Granger.

Damn Gryffindors were making him loose his touch.

ooooooooo

Meanwhile, Harry Potter jolted awake from his sleep, his face jammed uncomfortably in his open Transfiguration textbook. He had fallen asleep studying.

He had had a dream—_what was it_? There was something odd, something about Malfoy—but no, it was Draco, wasn't it? It was all very vivid and he could see—someone, from above.

His stomach twisted as he remembered the events from the dream. A green flash, a crimson background, a fading scream. A feminine voice cried "Malfoy!" and was replied by a masculine voice—was it Draco's?—telling her, "Shag off, would you? I don't want to see your face," in a tone most uncharacteristic of the normally docile boy. There was a knife—definitely a knife—and a vial, filled with a light blue potion, or poison, perhaps?

It was all so confusing. Harry sighed; dreams were so unreliable. He shook his head and picked up where he had left off on his homework.

**Hey, I hope this wasn't too bad. I had originally planned something very different—my first draft involved them having to cook with the house elves!—but this came tumbling out onto the paper. I hope it doesn't seem too boring, or OOC, or whatever. I just want to say, in my defense, that I obviously can't be completely in character, since Hermione being a female and Draco being a male complicates things—situations where Hermione might cry wouldn't have the same affect on Draco, after all! Well, this is incredibly long, so I'll just say thanks for reading and reviewing, and once again I'm sorry for the wait! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend...) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N: Here's the latest chapter. I made an effort to get it out earlier, I really did! I like this chapter, odd as it is. It kind of feels a bit inconsistent with the story, though. Oh well. 92 reviews! Thanks! I love all of you guys, it makes my day to read your awesome comments!**

Hermione woke with dry red eyes, completely exhausted. After performing several concealing glamour charms, she pulled on her robes halfheartedly. Sighing, she sank back down onto the bed. _**I really don't want to go to classes**, _she thought miserably, with both personas.

But, well, Malfoys had standards, she had learned. And skipping classes because she had gotten all emotional the day before just wasn't acceptable. Actually, getting emotional wasn't acceptable, but committing both crimes would be far, far worse.

She rose tiredly, running a hand through her hair. She was still surprised whenever she found sleek straightness, rather than her usual bushy mass of curls. She rather missed them.

At breakfast, Blaise was absent, and he came hurrying into Transfiguration so late that Hermione didn't have the time to question her. In fact, her whole schedule was filled today with Blaise-free classes, oddly enough. Was he—_avoiding_ her? This made her all the more persistent in her need to know _why_.

She passed through the next two classes in something of a daze, although she wasn't quite slacking off, either. Unconsciously, she swish-and-flicked, drawled lazy answers, and correctly identified the parts of a Muggle refrigerator. In lunch, she was approached by a near-tearful confused first year Slytherin, and by the time she had sorted out the problems with her, lunch was half over and Blaise was no where in sight.

"Crabbe, Goyle," she demanded while selecting a small slice of Shepard's pie and several chocolate biscuits. "Where is Blaise?"

"Ran off somewhere," grunted Crabbe.

"Said something about preparing something," elaborated the slightly more articulate Goyle.

Hermione sighed. Honestly, could they perhaps try to be a _smidge_ brighter? Immediately, she felt a bit bad. They couldn't help their lack of brain.

"Did he say what?" she asked patiently. After thinking for a moment, Crabbe shook his head resolutely. Goyle opened his mouth to speak. Hermione was pleasantly surprised. Had he finally learned to acknowledge the world around him?

"No." he confirmed. Hermione let out a frustrated groan. Forget the conscience, they were so—bloody—dim.

After lunch, she headed down to Care of Magical creatures, a double class with the Gryffindors. Oh, yes, that was just what she needed—a class full of enemies. On the plus side, Blaise _was_ there…

oooooooo

"Draco," Harry urgently whispered into his ear. They were at Care of Magical creatures, the last class of the day.

"What?" Draco asked quietly. What was so important that Harry had neglected to tell him earlier?

"I just remembered," Harry said. In hushed tones, he recounted his dream to Draco, who listened attentively. "I don't know what it means, though," he concluded.

"Harry, don't you know Occulmency enough to block vision dreams?" Draco asked intently.

"Yes…but, that was to block out Voldemort from attacking my mind. I don't know if this is real or not," Harry explained. Draco thought and nodded.

"But why would I call someone else Granger?" Draco asked, but inside he had a theory.

Had the real Granger had some part in this devious switching? He remembered her watching him intently. Perhaps she had poisoned him?

But, no, these things usually happened on their own. People didn't cause them, did they? And plus, Potter was clearly barmy and he had no reason to believe his silly dreams. It was probably just pure coincidence.

Probably.

"Hey, you lot, are you going to leave me to this—monster—alone?" came Ron's grumpy voice. Draco laughed at the sight of him. A strange beast that Draco had never heard of was climbing onto Ron's lap, spiky paws attaching to his robe and pulling out long strands. Draco suspected that it was a strange hybrid breed of a Niffler and something spiky.

Whatever it was, it was kind of cute. Cute in an illegal, tear-out-your-limbs sort of way. Draco smiled at it, and bent to pat it, but noticed something far more interesting in front of him, on the Slytherin side.

Pansy Parkinson was speaking to Millicent Bulstrode in a quiet, contained calm way with a glint in her cruel, shallow blue eyes.

That could mean only one thing: Trouble. She was planning on something, something to overthrow the current Slytherin Princess.

And Draco's quick, manipulative mind thought of what that could mean. Information was power, and power could get him that death eater book. Now, the only question was, how could he sell the information to Hermione—without looking like a sneaky, malicious Slytherin git?

Or, actually, then again…

oooooo

Hermione sat in her room, carefully writing the ending to a long and particularly boring essay due in Muggle Studies. She sighed as she dotted the last 'i' and rolled the parchment into a neat scroll. She tossed it at her schoolbag and reclined on her large, comfortable bed.

Despite the languid, serene actions she made, inwardly, she was most displeased. Not _once_ had she managed to corner Blaise. She had come to the conclusion that he was avoiding her. Ah, well, she would deal with him a dinner, which was in a half-hours time.

Getting up, she idly tugged at the gauze cascading down from her bedposts. She felt as if she was forgetting something…

Just then, though, there was a knock at her door. Gracefully she swept to the door and opened it. Draco stood there, impatient and annoyed.

"Your lackey is lingering outside," he said brusquely. Hermione raised an eyebrow and crossed the room to the portrait. She pushed it open to find a pacing Blaise. She beckoned him inside, then turned to Draco.

"Right, Granger, you're services are no longer needed," she said, with an idly flick of her had, as if dismissing a slave. Blaise sneered at Draco behind her. Draco strode off, muttering, "Really, now, when _will_ people learn?" and slamming the door to his room behind him.

Hermione laughed. "Why are you here, Blaise? And why have you been avoiding me all day? Don't deny it," she added at his face.

"Let's go into your room, shall we?" Blaise sidestepped the question neatly, pulling Hermione into her bedroom by her thing wrist.

"So? I'm waiting, Blaise," Hermione said patiently once he pulled the ajar door closed.

"Look, Hermione, you know me. I just don't _do _comforting," he sighed, running a hand through his dark locks.

Hermione nodded, unsure what this had to do with anything. Then it hit her, and she doubled over in laughter. "You—you were embarrassed?" she gasped out. Blaise glared at her, then nodded. Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder for support, shill laughing relentlessly.

Once she had calmed down, Blaise was staring determinately at the floor with a slight flush on his olive-skinned cheeks. "Oh, Zabini, you priceless, priceless boy," she said, a bit breathless from laughter.

She wasn't quite sure how it happened. But somehow, he had looked up as she put her older hand on his other shoulder, a mindless gesture. His eyes had a gleam to them, sweetly mischievous as a cherub. Unthinking, she leaned forward, solidly connecting her lips to his.

He had not expected it, to be sure. It was a mainly one-sided affair until he gathered his wits, and kissed back.

Hermione Malfoy had never even dreamt of Blaise in a strictly non-platonic way. But now, now that they were latched by the lip, she found that these thoughts had fled her.

Actually, she found _all _thoughts had fled her, perhaps into the yielding, sweet lipped mouth attached to hers.

Hermione Malfoy had kissed many a man, most of them more desirable, more experienced and most definitely more sophisticated than Blaise. Now, however, she found a delicious shiver of anticipation travel down her spine. For none had been—as pure, as well meaning, as, well, friendly as Blaise. He wasn't a virgin by any means, having slept with several Slytherin girls just to rid himself of the 'Virgin' title, but he was refreshingly moldable.

Hermione's tongue had, unbidden, found shelter in Blaise's mouth, and her hands traveled expertly from his shoulders to rest at his hips. He tentatively raised his own, larger hands to cup her cheeks gently, still paying avid attention to her lips.

She drew away first, gasping from the sheer force of the kiss. "Wow," she murmured. Blaise smiled, a true, genuine thing that made Hermione's breath hitch slightly. Blaise leant down, softly brushing his lips against hers.

"Yeah," he said, mouth brushing hers with every word. "But, I'm not a _boy_," he added, pressing his lips more firmly onto hers.

It took Hermione a few moments to process what he was talking about with his rather distracting lips on hers. She giggled into his mouth when she realized he was referring to her earlier comment.

The Malfoy side of Hermione wasn't a bug one for lip-to-lip kisses. They were just…too intimate. People took them the wrong way, got attached. 'She' had always told 'herself' that so many lingering kisses were only for her one, true, love.

Which wasn't Blaise. Oh, sure, he was a great boy. But he wasn't her soul mate, she didn't think. Consequently, she pulled her lips away from his.

But just because he wasn't her soul mate, and she couldn't kiss him, not like that, it didn't mean they couldn't have …fun.

Which is just what they did for the next hour and a half. Three times in a row.

Hermione, lying sated in Blaise's arms, idly recalled that dinner had ended. Still, she didn't rise and soon her thoughts evaporated when Blaise reached over and placed a possessive arm around her waist in sleep. Smiling, she snuggled closer to his chest.

**_Wait. Hold on a minute._**

_**Possessive?**_

**_Oh, no. This is _not_ happening. Not with Blaise._**

oooooooo

Draco, sitting tensely by his wall, swore under his breath. He had been listening to the conversation between the Mudblood-who-wasn't and his best friend. He had tuned out a bit, however, when the only worlds passed were the disgustingly explicit kind. That was really just _not right_.

_What the fuck?_ He didn't like the idea of—her—and Blaise sleeping together. He didn't care that Hermione was him, right now; it was just _wrong, _plain and simple.

The problem was, he couldn't figure out just what part was so incredibly wrong. He knew it was true, but, well, which section? The fact that it was Blaise, his best, deceitful, Slytherin friend? Or the fact that it was Hermione, whose life he was inhabiting and who he hated—or did he?

It didn't make any _sense_. He should have rushed in there and broken off whatever—well, he knew, but, _ew_-they were doing, for Blaise's sake. He shouldn't have let his best friend get tainted like that.

Yet also, being in Granger's life, it made him feel a bit—_responsible_ for her in this life. He wasn't sure if it was his damsel-in-distress complex (although now that he thought about it, she wasn't exactly in distress) or if he was actually—_oh, god, this is weird_—_growing_ on her. Worst of all, he wasn't sure he disliked this new feeling.

_But, when I go back to the_ real_ world, everything will be normal, _he half-heartedly assured himself. _This means nothing here. I can't let these—ugh—_feelings_ get in the way of thing. Whatever they are. I'm sure there not serious._

But really, he wasn't sure. Because in this crazy, messed-up world where pure-blood crazed people looked up to a half-blood, half-dead guy and Muggle-lovers looked up to a teenage, scar-faced boy, anything was possible. It scared him a little the depth of how plain _strange_ the world was—not just this one, the _real_ one.

Well, it didn't really matter, he supposed.

It wasn't like this was _love_ he was dealing with, or something.

Right?

Ooooooooo

Hermione woke bright and early the next day. It was six thirty, the morning light practically non-existent. Gently wriggling out of Blaise's arms, so as not to wake him, she rose and strode over to the bathroom in the ease of one who has spent a refreshingly passionate night.

However, that didn't mean that she wanted to get attached.

So, as she had done numerous times before, she left the room after washing away the traces of sex from her body and dressing, leaving Blaise to wake with a cold spot beside him, perhaps hurt—but not confused. She really was fond of Blaise, it was true, but she didn't want him to think the wrong thing.

He would get over it. In time.

Hermione didn't like thinking about it. She had never been rejected in such a way, certainly, so she didn't really know _what _if felt like. Paying attention to her surroundings, she realized where her padding footsteps had led her: The Heads' room.

Almost in a daze, she went inside. Somehow she was not surprised to se Draco there, poring over a small-printed tome that was near crumbling with age.

"Did you just—leave him there?" Draco blurted out in astonishment once he looked up and found her watching him. Hermione scowled as he flushed.

"Yes, Mudblood. I did. Get over it, it's not like its _you_ I'm rejecting," she told him coolly. Immediately, she realized her mistake. That almost sounded as if she liked him. Luckily, however, he didn't notice and just grumbled and went back to her work.

She felt a small pang in her stomach. Was she really like that? All study and prissy habits and no fun? No, come off it, she had fun—but come to think of it, she was always the nagging one.

In this body, she felt an odd kind of freedom. Not bound by the ropes of her identity, she could say some words that had always been bottled up—but, wait.

Her words were Malfoy's words. Or Malfoy's words were her words. Either way, it didn't make sense. Did she like what he was saying? No, that didn't make sense either—she had been fighting against his cruel words all seven years at Hogwarts.

What did this mean? Did she suddenly see him as a person?

Did he feel the same way?

This called for drastic action. She knew she shouldn't, but, well, she had to. If only to ensure that she wasn't mad.

Abruptly she turned on her heel and left, slamming the portrait behind her. She willed herself to remember the steps—yes, a left at_ this_ hallway, up _those_ stairs, through that set of doors. On, and on, and on, until she found the small chamber with three open arches as walls, the last a solid, marble plated wall.

A portrait of a shrewd looking man hung on the wall, beady eyes calculating as Hermione drew near.

"I've been expecting you," he said is a slightly wheezy soft voice.

"I know you have," Hermione replied neutrally, eyes flashing to the engraving below the portrait. In fancy script, it read: "**Wilmer the Willful: the Sly Will Not Repent; for They Alone Are Not Remorseful**."

Hermione smiled in satisfaction. It was the right place.

"Good luck," Wilmer wheezed, still managing to sound cunning. Hermione nodded, then spoke.

"Cryptic," she said, in an ironically clear voice.

The portrait swung open.

**Dun dun dun…heh. There you are, seven pages of coolness where each realizes that the other isn't so bad. I'm sorry about the Blaise thing for those staunch Hermione-Draco-shippers, but really, for someone as, ah, sexually open as Malfoy (either one, take your pick) they need someone to blow off some steam with. I didn't make it at all descriptive, of course, but that's just because it's inconsequential to the plot. Perhaps there's a real one ahead, but by that I mean far, far ahead. Hope you don't mind! Anyways this is disastrously long, so thanks for reading and review if the mood takes you! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Turning Draco's Coat**

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: **R **(for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not _that_ much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend…) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

**A / N : Soooooooooooo sorry for the long wait. Stuff has been happening, though. I've had some crazy family things going on, what with this relative dying and that one in the hospital and so forth. But everything's alright now! I don't think this is one of my better chapters, but I just wanted to update. Thanks and enjoy!**

Hermione hurried back to the Head's room, the crystal vial with whitely blue contents clutched tightly in her hand.

She entered the room and Draco looked up again. His eyes widened when he saw what was in her hand.

"What—" He began, but stopped when she advanced toward him. "No. Oh, no. You can't do this!"

"I can," she said softly. "I can. And that's just what I'm doing."

Draco had risen and his eyes darted to the door, trying to scope out possible escapes. But Hermione had other plans. She was not interested in trying to physically catch him. She raised her wand, thanking the Gods that Draco's was left forgotten by the table, and muttered, "_Petrificus Totalus_."

Immediately he was pressed together in a board-like way. The full body bind was quite uncomfortable, though not inherently painful. Hermione drew near and with some whispered spell he did not quite catch, his mouth opened.

Hermione carefully removed the stopper from the bottle. Carefully, very carefully, she allowed three drops to leave the thin neck of the vial and splash into Draco's open mouth. She whispered the counter curse and Draco's mobility returned.

He was too caught up in the effects of the potion to notice. The world seemed hazy, swirling ominously about him. Colors seemed too vivid, too sharp, and he could feel each thump his heart made.

_Beat_.

Hermione asked him something but he couldn't hear what. Oddly, he seemed to reply anyway.

"I briefly suspected that maybe she came here the same way as I—but dismissed it."

_Beat_.

Another question.

"My father wants me to become a death eater. It's easier to obey than to fight. Plus, the other side would never welcome me. I do not 'choose.'"

_Beat_.

Another.

"More than anything. I don't want to die."

_Beat_.

"Mudbloods are witches and wizards, and can be just as powerful. Granger—Hermione—proved that to me since first year. But I still don't think it's fair that they get the same—or better—treatment than us purebloods. They should work for us, not vice versa."

_Beat_.

"No. No, I do not love my father."

_Beat_.

"The Light side seems too naïve to win. The Dark side seems too dim to win. I have no predictions."

_Beat_.

"Harry Potter is lucky. Lucky, and he doesn't even know it. Parents are chains. Adoration isn't usually free. Plus, he's got half the witches in the world pining after him."

_Beat_.

Now the blood rushed to his head and he seemed to be physically reacting to the question she had just asked but he felt no movement and he couldn't, just couldn't, understand what she was saying. But his traitorous lips formed the words.

"She's pretty. I don't like her fucking Blaise, but I don't understand why. She has good friends and is too powerful for her own good. I can't get her out of my head and I don't think I even want to and I think I might semi-like her personality. But that's wrong. She's wrong. She's a Mudblood. She's a know it all. She's everything I've hated my entire life. She's a Mudblood. That should be that. I'm not supposed to think of her—not like _that_."

And then he heard her mutter a spell, and the world went black for one harsh second and he was left with just the pulse of his blood and the hammering of his heart.

_Beat_.

_Beat_.

_Beat_.

And then he opened his eyes, only to blink.

"Malfoy," he said curtly, acknowledging her presence. "How the bloody hell did I get here?" he asked aloud as he noticed he was slumped over by the mantle of the fireplace.

Hermione smiled and something, for a split second, felt very wrong. And yet—at the same time, it felt perfectly—normal.

ooooooooooo

Draco knew something was wrong. You didn't have to be a genius to figure it out.

And it had to do with _her_. He was sure of it.

You just didn't black out on fireplaces with no recollection of it later, damnit!

Well, he didn't, at any rate. And by what he knew of Granger, she wasn't the type to do that, either.

As he was mulling it over with his daily toast and a scone breakfast, he was clueless. He really, really didn't like the feeling.

"Hey," Ginny's voice startled him out of his reverie.

"Oh," he smiled slightly. "Hey, Gin."

_**This time last year, you'd be jumping at this opportunity, insanely grateful that she returns your affection, however slight. What changed?**_

Granger's thoughts reverberated through his skull. Damnit, what did all of this mean? He heartily wished he had someone to mull it over with. Someone, anyone, anyone who would understand.

"You're spacey today," Ginny observed. He turned to her in surprise, and smiled.

"Sorry about that. I was just thinking about something."

"You shouldn't think so much. You get so worried about everything, Draco. And you hardly ever visit us back in Gryffindor Tower," Ginny said with a pleading look in her eyes. He felt a small knot of guilt settle in his chest.

"I'm sorry, Gin," he said sincerely. It was almost sickening, but really … it wouldn't be too bad to have that kind of friend, would it?

What was he thinking? He shook his head.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, brow furrowed.

"Oh! Nothing, just planning out my homework so that I can come up to the Tower soon," he lied glibly. He hadn't known it was in Granger!

Okay, so maybe he did. But still!

"Okay," she said warily. "You promise?"

"Yeah," he smiled. All this smiling kind of made his cheeks hurt. He wasn't sure how Granger could stand it, day in and day out.

Ginny smiled back at him, though more softly. She reached a hand over to him and gently stroked his cheek. He shuddered imperceptibly under her cool-fingered touch.

"Draco," she said. "Draco, you've been kind of worrying all of us. You're so … tense lately. What is it? Is it the war?" she asked.

Draco frowned slightly. He wasn't acting odd, was he?

_**I'm acting perfectly normal. It's Ginny who's acting up…**_

And then—oh, God, he was slow—it made sense.

Ginny liked him. Granger, anyway. Liked him more than he had thought she had. Liked him enough to make the first move…

Who did Ginny figure into in the real world? Was she Harry? Ron? Someone completely different?

Whoever it was, it became clear that Hermione didn't feel the same way about him. Or, rather, she once did, maybe. But now—no longer.

Draco stood abruptly, Ginny's hand dropping fast. "I'd better get to the library," he said, giving her a slightly sideways smile.

"But—Breakfast is nearly over!" she called after him. His body did not slow at her words.

Somehow, he felt a bit relieved by that.

Now, if only he could figure out that damn fireplace blackout…

ooooooooooooo

Hermione was not in a good mood.

She hadn't managed to change Draco around yet. Not completely, anyway, but at least there were signs that she was getting to him. She had kind of hoped that she had made better progress, though. She really wanted to get back home.

This life was just not suited for her. For example, all through the first class of the day and breakfast, Blaise had been scowling at her when he thought she wasn't looking. The rest of the time, he just looked at her coolly and dispassionately. He wouldn't speak to her, either.

Hermione felt horribly guilty. She realized it was the easiest thing to do, but it still felt wrong. She just wanted to give Blaise a hug and tell him that she was sorry.

But that wasn't the way things worked in Slytherin.

At breakfast, Hermione had realized she hadn't done a crucial piece of Transfiguration homework and had little time to eat as she worked. Leila Zabini had gazed at her complacently out of the corner of her eye, which didn't bode well for Hermione.

In Potions, the first class of the day, Hermione had been paired up with Pansy, who had tried to slip cockroaches into the potion and make it explode, attempted to shove Hermione out of her chair, added newt's eye to the potion unintentionally and when it exploded all over her, missing Hermione by an inch, had sullenly set fire to Hermione's notes.

No, Hermione wasn't in a good mood.

Classes breezed by in a whirl of homework, misconstrued spells, and badly aimed hexes from Pansy. By the time classes ended, Hermione was quite put out and not in the mood for homework in the least.

Luckily, she had other things to occupy her mind, as she walked into her room and noticed something amiss.

It wasn't messily rearranged. In fact, an unobservant person would think it had looked exactly the same as the morning before. But Hermione was not unobservant. Oh, there were no huge changes, no strewn clothes or broken vases or anything like that.

But she knew someone had been searching, by the looks of the little things. Such as the slightly crooked mirror, or the misalignment of the books in their shelves. Such as the distinctly masculine scent that floated through the air, that reminded her faintly of …someone…

She couldn't find anything missing, not at the first glimpse. But was that the slight, slight trace of a fingerprint on her father's latest letter? Perhaps. It made sense, after all. He had always been a suspect. He wasn't supposed to be writing to her at all.

She had her suspicions. She didn't dare speak them aloud, not yet. But she had her suspicions, and one day they would be proved.

Now, however, was her turn to patrol the corridors.

And luckily, she had patrol with a rather cute Ravenclaw prefect. It would be the perfect final touches to making Blaise see that she truly was not interested to have him come back to her room with him…

Oh, okay. So it was fun for her, too.

And it couldn't be too bad if business mingles with pleasure, could it?

Well, it didn't matter. It would, either way.

Hermione smiled to herself. While this lifestyle was not really suited to her…she did enjoy certain parts of it.

ooooooooooo

Draco opened the portrait hole and climbed into Gryffindor Tower.

As he unfolded his frame from the opening, he noticed that Harry and Ron were not sitting at their usual table.

He frowned and looked around.

They weren't anywhere.

He waved at Neville, smiled at Dean and Seamus, nodded approvingly at a studying bunch of second years and was about to ask Parvati where Harry and Ron were, when Ginny showed up.

Ginny walked into the common room, oddly enough, from the staircase that led to the boy's dorms. She looked slightly worn but cheered up slightly at the sight of Draco. She smiled genuinely enough at him, if tiredly.

"What's up, Gin?" He asked her concernedly.

"Oh, well, just stuff. It's a good thing you're here, Harry had just asked me to look for you," she told him.

"Oh." Draco was unsure what this all meant. Ginny didn't look too worried, though, so it couldn't be too serious. "Should I go up, then?"

At Ginny's nod, he started off towards the dormitory that his Granger-self had lived in for six years. It was slightly warmer than the Slytherin dormitories, although whether it was because of the gold and scarlet coloring, or the non-dungeon state of it, he wasn't sure.

Harry and Ron were perched upon Harry's four post bed, whispering excitedly. Ron's race was very red with excitement, or something of the sort, and Harry's eyes were twinkling.

"There you are, mate," Ron called to him.

Draco smiled slightly. "What's all this about?"

"Oh, nothing much," Harry shrugged. "Except that—Dumbledore's granted Ron, you and me permission to go to an official, non-censored Order meeting! Don't tell Ginny, though, she's not allowed. This is going to be brilliant!"

The Granger part of him apparently was very excited about this. The Draco side, however, was less than thrilled. He knew what the Order was, of course—he was the son of a death eater, after all—but he wasn't really a part of it.

And, well, it felt a little to him like spying. And that wasn't fair, was it?

Damn!

When had he started caring whether things were _fair_, or not?

**Hope it wasn't too bad. Review, please?**


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